


York Shin General Hospital

by arcaladiwoompa



Category: Hunter X Hunter
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, Doctor Leorio, Domestic Fluff, Fix It Fic, Forgiveness, Found Family, Gen, Grey-Asexual Kurapika, Illustrated with captions, Kurapika Gets Therapy, M/M, Music, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Therapy, mental health, self-care
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-09
Updated: 2021-01-22
Packaged: 2021-03-06 07:34:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 12
Words: 97,870
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25809691
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/arcaladiwoompa/pseuds/arcaladiwoompa
Summary: On his way out the frosted glass door, which shatters all over again at the lightest touch, Kurapika’s eyes land on a cheesy motivational poster that readsToday is the first day of the rest of your life.Why is it always a skydiver with a rainbow parachute in the mountains at sunset?***I specialize in turning sad into fluff.  In this fic, I wanted to explore all the wonderful things Kurapika could accomplish if he gets help turning his life around, because he deserves so much better.  I hope I've brightened someone's day!
Relationships: Kurapika & Leorio Paladiknight, Kurapika & Nobunaga Hazama, Kurapika & Senritsu | Melody (Hunter X Hunter), Kurapika/Leorio Paladiknight, Kuroro Lucifer | Chrollo Lucifer & Kurapika
Comments: 87
Kudos: 107





	1. Make a Left at the Boarded Up Pizza Shop

**Author's Note:**

> Warning for suicidal thoughts right at the beginning plus some canon typical violence (I initially rated this fic M but later decided to downgrade it to T). It gets flufflier from there, I promise. I can't write sadfic to save my life.
> 
> Spoilers for anything up to the Chairman election arc. Minor spoilers for Succession Arc (I largely discarded canon but used some points for reference. Some spoilers for Phantom Rouge / Kurapika's memories, but I haven't actually watched it and I just data mined Hunterpedia for some references.

September 3rd, 1999. The night he almost jumped.

From the top of the hotel, scanning the darkened York Shin skyline, all he can see are scarlet eyes glowing back at him from every rooftop, screaming death threats at passing aircrafts. He even held them in his hands for a few indescribable moments, tied up in a box with string, before letting his boss ooh and ahh over them like some shiny bauble. The instant Miss Neon gets her hands on her next new toy she probably won’t even look at them anymore. Three billion Jenny. There are things that _never_ belong to you, no matter how much money you spent. And he just handed them over without saying a word. His ancestors must think he’s a spineless failure. 

“The Spider is dead.” 

He hangs up. What is the _point_? Why did he spend five years training to wield two katanas and a hidden knife? Why did he pass the Hunter exam? Why did he create five variants of a nen skill with conditions that now make them nearly useless? 

Come to think of it misusing his Chain Jail would be faster and less painful than entrusting himself to the cool late summer breeze, but somehow he can’t quite bring himself to break his own promise. He imagines the mundane thoughts in the heads of all the tiny ant-like people on the sidewalks below- corrupt police officers and mafia thugs – as they find his broken, bleeding body and shrug. His eyes will be a placid, ordinary brown for all eternity. Fuck them all. Wouldn’t that be funny? 

“Kurapika…”

When Senritsu didn’t hear his heartbeat behind the closed door of his room, she began to worry. Now she’s _terrified_. This is the worst rhythm of all, worse than the all-consuming desire to inflict violence, worse than the raw grief, the utter, helpless defeat. The heartbeat of one wavering on the edge is never frantic. She recognizes that deceptive calm- slow and deliberate, contemplating just how easy it would be to lift the weight off his own shoulders. First she will delay him, to give logic and reason time to catch up. Then if she hears him reach a decision, becoming suddenly almost cheerful, she doesn’t care if she has to become the Pied Piper if that’s what it takes; she _will_ play her flute before it’s too late. 

No, it wouldn’t be funny. Senritsu wouldn’t laugh. She wouldn’t even shrug. Kurapika’s legs no longer have the strength to hold him; he collapses into a sitting position and lets a long sigh deflate his lungs. He’s so tired. He really ought to get some rest like he said he would. 

“Do you want to talk?” 

“No, I’m alright now.” 

“No, you’re not. Kurapika, a moment ago you had the heartbeat of someone who has lost the will to live. This is serious. If it’s happened once it could happen again. Forgive me if it isn’t my place to say this, considering how little time we’ve known each other, but you shouldn’t be ignoring your mental health, or continuing to struggle with it on your own. Reaching out for help isn’t a sign of weakness." 

Kurapika doesn’t like the idea. Assuming he did reach out for help, who could he trust not to pickle his head in a jar and auction it to his boss, or sell all his secrets, or block his information from being revealed to anyone with the money to pay for it on the Hunter website? 

“Promise me you’ll at least think about it? If not for your own sake then for all the people who would miss you if you threw away your life?” Senritsu prompts after he is silent for too long. “You can count me as one of them.” 

And there’s Leorio, and Killua, and Gon- it’s all too easy to imagine the devastation on his honest face. “Thank you. That means a lot to me.” 

“I’ll see you in the morning.” 

“Yeah.” 

***

The next few days are the worst kind of emotional roller coaster imaginable. 

_That’s great! Now you can focus on recovering the eyes of your people!_

_The bodies were fake._

_Gon and Killua let themselves be kidnapped- willing to sacrifice their lives for me- all because I let my own anger blind me. If I let them die I will never forgive myself._

_Every nerve cell in my body wants to murder him so badly I could choke, and Kuroro doesn’t even care._

The judgement chain constricts like a clenched fist. Kurapika flinches, his hand clutching at the echo in his own chest. Pakunoda? Is it strange that taking her life makes him feel a little sick with grief? That the fact that they know everything about him now seems insignificant in comparison? He can’t decide if the distance makes it any easier to bear than the resigned defiance etched into Ubogin’s face, seen from up close behind a veil of red mist. Both were determined to die rather than betray their companions. No, in a way it’s worse now that Kurapika is certain he has made a grave mistake- all this time he has thought of the Ryodan as monsters rather than people. Is he the one turning himself into a monster? 

Speaking of sick, how long has it been? Two straight hours? Shit. Almost an entire year, and it only scares him as a vague afterthought… That would explain standing on two feet suddenly feels like trying to push open the Zoldyck family’s Testing Gates. This airship is too drafty. His whole body is shaking. 

“Kurapika! Are you alright?” 

“I’m so cold.” 

_His house is on fire. So are the expressions on the faces of every last one of his relatives. Severed heads. Rivers of blood. Empty eye sockets; he witnessed Feitan gleefully clawing them out with his own fingernails. Ubogin. Kuroro. Pakunoda. Chains criss-cross his vision in every direction, but the nen won’t come out. Waves of heat keep overwhelming him until someone places a cool cloth on his forehead. His father knocks him unconscious and throws him into the cellar before charging sword first into the fray as a distraction. Where is that strain of music coming from? The hallucination goes blissfully dark._

“What time is it?” He asks again after waking up for about the fifth time. 

“Time for you to drink some tea before I have to send you to the hospital for dehydration.” 

“Time to make good on your promise.” 

Senritsu gives him a meaningful look. Leorio raises an eyebrow. 

Kurapika would feel inclined to pull the sheets up over his face if they weren’t drenched in his sweat. Ugh. Time for a shower. “I’ll explain later.” 

***

Gon and Killua’s capture was his fault. Squala’s death was his fault. Kurapika has to do _something_ before he needlessly endangers another life. It would be easier to go it alone like he always has, to avoid dragging anyone else into his fight. But then- what if his plans had gone awry, and the Ryodan had been the ones to find him collapsed in a feverish heap instead of Leorio and Senritsu? The only reason he wouldn’t already be dead by now in that scenario is if they were having fun torturing him. 

As with any serious undertaking, the first place to start is with research. Kurapika can at least commit to that much, even if he isn’t sold on the services anyone is offering. First he will rule out anyone indiscreet enough to post their listings on the Hunter website, then he will use his own channels to hunt down the information he is looking for. 

It will have to be a strong nen user with a built in incentive to keep their own secrets and the fighting ability to back it up. Someone who will understand what he’s going through. Someone with the strength and knowledge to handle him at his worst. And… someone who won’t kick him out of their office for punching through a wall the instant he happens to see a spider crawling on it. He may have to pay extra for property damage. 

***

Kurapika pushes past the boarded up pizza shop on 39th and Broadleaf into the adjacent alley. He has been hiding his presence with Zetsu for the last three blocks; it doesn’t make sense to draw attention to himself by giving the nen in his feet a boost to reach the fire escape ladder one floor up. Good thing his training on the grounds of the Zoldyck mansion make jumping up laughably easy. Third floor… fourth floor… fifth floor… he steps into a small vestibule with barely enough room to open the second door, locked and made from frosted glass. There doesn’t appear to be any sort of dial pad or buzzer with which to request entry. All the lights are on beyond the frosted glass, and the outer door was unlocked. Surely that means there’s a good chance someone is inside? Kurapika raises up his fist to knock. One rap and the inner door shatters into a million shards of frosted glass at his feet. 

Uh. Shit. This is already off to a bad start. Did he really knock that hard? 

“Well don’t just stand there, come on in.” 

“Sorry about the door.” 

“You mean my doorbell. My _real_ door is past the reception desk.” 

So, the doctor must be a Conjurer and the door acts as a kind of En. As soon as Kurapika steps over the threshold, the shattered glass evaporates into tiny wisps of nen around his feet. He can sense another identical door materializing in its place behind him. Upon closer investigation, with a dash of Gyo, glowing letters appear on the frosted glass in the shape of the message: 

Dove Barbadens, MD LPC XX

Business Hours by Appointment Only

He has entered a small waiting room with white walls, a nondescript grey-brown carpet, an unoccupied reception desk, a potted banana tree by the shuttered windows, a small table covered in outdated magazines, and two metal chairs. There is a petite figure- close cropped white curls, skin the color of dark chocolate, green eyes, gold hoop earrings and well-tailored black business attire over a slim waist and broad hips, accentuated with a tropical-print scarf- watching him from the open doorway to a brightly lit corridor with tiled floors. “I’m always interested in seeing a new face. What’s your name?” 

“My name is Kurapika.” 

“Nice to meet you, Mr. Kurapika. You may call me Doctor Barbadens. Since you’ve found my office, I presume you’re here to schedule your first consultation?” 

He hesitates. If he takes the plunge now, there’s no turning back. 

“You’re trying to judge whether you can trust me, correct? Would you like to challenge me to a fight?” Doctor Barbadens asks without any hint of hostility. She seems friendly but reserved, even a bit formal. “I’ve started to make it standard practice after a few of my new patients didn’t even bother to ask before throwing the first punch.” 

Now Kurapika is intrigued. It shouldn’t surprise him; measuring oneself against a potential opponent is the first instinct of every nen user and every would-be Hunter he has ever met. After all, he learned a lot more about his friends from watching how they fight than he ever would have just by talking. That the reverse is also true puts him a little on edge, however he has no reason to show her anything other than his Dowsing Chain and the results of his basic nen training. “Very well, I accept. Did you have a time and place in mind?” 

“The sixth floor is more spacious. I don’t have any appointments scheduled for today, so we can start whenever you are ready.” 

Indeed, the sixth floor is so bare the only obstructions in the entire open concept space are the structural columns holding up the roof. It looks like it’s supposed to be an office, but the soundproofed ceiling tiles and wall panels and the reinforcing nen suffusing his surroundings hints otherwise. All the blinds are closed, which suits Kurapika just fine. 

The doctor gives him a little nod, and before he knows it Kurapika is hopping out of the way of a glass vase that materialized from nowhere right over his head. Then another, and another, until he has to watch his step to avoid a sea of broken glass. None of it is disappearing. Without warning a barrier of smoky glass walls appears all around him, as if an attempt to block his escape path from the shower of falling vases. Kurapika swings his Dowsing Chain around him in all directions, surprised by how little force it takes to smash through her nen. 

“Chains, huh?” 

He has to move faster; she has him on the defensive. Walls keep materializing in front of him, slowing him down and obscuring his line of sight as he tries to get within striking range. What if he just shields his head with Ko and focuses on striking back from a distance with his chain? 

Doctor Barbadens is quick to dodge, changing tactics to pick up the broken shards of glass in a whirlwind all around him. Suddenly Kurapika finds himself back on the defensive, struggling to swat all the projectiles away. As she slowly wears him down with a thousand bleeding cuts and his Dowsing Chain alone proves insufficient without the use of the powers he reserved specifically for the Ryodan and for use with Emperor Time, it begins to dawn on Kurapika that maybe, just maybe he shouldn’t have been such an asshole to Izunavi when he was teaching him to use nen. Although- It may be a long while yet before he’s willing to admit that to his face. 

The shards of glass abruptly vanish. “I think I’ve seen enough for now. Would you like a cup of tea?” 

“Yes, thank you.” 

***

Kurapika melts into one of the vacant chairs in the waiting room, poring over the paperwork the doctor has placed in front of him as his tea gradually cools to a drinkable temperature. She has sterilized and bandaged up all of the deeper cuts, but damn do they still sting. 

Page 1: Basic information. Name, date of birth, medical history, the reason for his visit…

Page 2: A confidentiality agreement. 

Page 3: Terms and conditions. 

“Let me tell you a little bit about myself. I decided to become a psychologist specializing in nen users after I passed the Hunter exam. Having seen how brutal it is with my own eyes, and the sheer number of people who die taking the exam each year, I saw a need for counseling to heal the grief, trauma and violence that these people have experienced, many of them even before they decided to take the exam. Naturally it isn’t easy to deal with a nen user who may harm themselves or others under these extreme conditions, so I had to undertake extensive combat training in addition to my studies before I was able to found my own clinic. It helps some of my patients overcome the stigma that reacting to stress and trauma is a sign of mental weakness, when in fact it requires an abundance of courage to keep battling these demons every day on top of all the other challenges life throws at us.” 

“Now about the paperwork- make sure you read all the fine print. If you fill out the required information, understand, agree with, and sign these three documents, then you become my patient. I may use certain nen abilities on you that are tied to this condition, should they become necessary. Furthermore, if I breach the confidentiality agreement then I will lose all of my nen abilities. In exchange I expect you to follow all of my prescriptions. We cannot expect results if the treatment plan is not built on a foundation of trust.” 

“With regard to the terms and conditions on the third page, the key information that I would like to emphasize is that receiving treatment may alter or dull your nen abilities, and can even potentially change your dominant nen type. I would also like to warn you that the nature of psychology is such that it requires patience and perseverance before it can do its job. Some treatments and approaches may not work, and it may get worse before it gets better. Do you have any questions?”

“I… need time to think about this.” 

“Well Mr. Kurapika, it was a pleasure to meet you. Let me know when you’ve decided. You know where to find me.” 

On his way out the frosted glass door, which shatters all over again at the lightest touch, Kurapika’s eyes land on a cheesy motivational poster that reads _Today is the first day of the rest of your life_. Why is it always a skydiver with a rainbow parachute in the mountains at sunset? 

*** 

Name: Kurapika of the Kuruta Clan  
Date of Birth: April 4th, 1982  
The Reason for Your Visit: I don’t want to be consumed by rage anymore.

***

“Welcome back. How about we start from the beginning?” 

So Kurapika takes a deep breath and tells Doctor Barbadens everything. His interrupted childhood, the Kuruta Clan and their prized Scarlet Eyes, the Ryodan and how he’s already killed two of them, how pointless their faked deaths made him feel, his powers and the steep price he pays for using them, and how despairingly easy it is to lose all logic and self-control the instant he sees the shape of a spider. When he is finished he feels drained to the bitter dregs like the little leaf fragments sloshing around at the bottom of a teapot. 

The doctor is taking notes while he talks. _Post-traumatic stress. Grief. Anger management. Maladaptive coping behaviors. Anxiety. Self-harm. At least one depressive episode, suicidal thoughts._

“Thank you for sharing. I can see why it would be difficult for you to place trust in someone you have recently met. Now, in order to provide further direction I have another form for you to fill out. We can revisit these every few months.” 

She hands him a questionnaire which he really doesn’t have the energy to focus on right now, but his eyes automatically start reading the first couple questions from the top. 

1\. The things I used to enjoy don’t bring me any happiness.

Always Often Sometimes Rarely Never

2\. I don’t have the energy to get out of bed.

Always Often Sometimes Rarely Never

3\. I can’t stop my thoughts from running in circles.

Always Often Sometimes Rarely Never

“Mr. Kurapika, here is what I would like you to do.” 

He looks up from the page in his hands. 

“I would like you to go out and buy a journal. Every day, I want you to write down five things you are thankful for. You don’t need to show them to me; I only want to know whether you are keeping at it. Try to come up with different things every day. Then whenever you feel like your bank is running low on gratitude, you can go back and start reading from the beginning.” 

“Here is what else I would like you to keep in your journal. Keep a log of what you are eating at every meal, and how much sleep you’re getting every night. Take a walk for a minimum of half an hour every day, preferably in a natural area. I will write you a prescription for it as a reminder. This may seem like a tedious exercise, but it’s important. Both your mood and your energy levels will suffer when you are running on empty.” 

“Is that all?” 

“Of course not, we are only just getting started. I need you to be at your best before we start trying to manage your stress response. Come back and see me in a week.” 

***

“Hello? Leorio? Are you still in town?” 

“Kurapika? I thought you left for Nostrade Island.” 

“Ever since Neon lost her abilities, the old man is broke and Senritsu, Basho and I are out of a job.” 

“Wow.” 

“It doesn’t matter.” There’s nothing for him there anymore; the Nostrades don’t have the Scarlet Eyes since they were stolen from Squala by the Troupe. It’s Eliza he feels sorry for. “I might consider working for Zenji next since I know he’s a collector, if it weren’t for that fact that he’s seen me without my contacts on and we hate each other’s guts.” 

“In that case I hope you at least scared the shit out of him.” 

Probably? He doesn’t remember; his mind was on the contents of the box. If he keeps thinking about it he’s going to get upset again. God, is he ever sick of his own brain for one day. Change the damned channel. “Did you want to catch up over dinner?” Actually there is almost nobody else he can stand to be around in this festering basement of mafia activity. He really doesn’t have a whole lot of options to choose from when it comes to good company. 

“Sure, I need a break from hitting the books.” 

“I need a break from my entire life. Want to trade?” 

“No thanks, I’ll pass.” 

“You coward.” 

“You human wrecking ball.” 

“I’ll take that as a compliment. Where are you staying?” 

“Same hotel for now, but I’ve found a nice studio apartment on the East-West subway line downtown. I just have to wait until they finish renovating so I can move in on October first.” 

“Meet me at Green Dragon Dim Sum at seven.” 

“Great, see you there.” 

***

Kurapika lets Leorio do most of the talking. He wants to hear everything about Gon and Killua and Greed Island, the sweet deals Zepile managed to score in the market, and how Leorio managed to pass the entrance exams and squeak by into his first year of medical school two weeks after classes already started. It’s so… normal. 

“Doctor Barbadens thinks I’m going to forget to eat if I don’t write everything down.” 

“Well I sure wouldn’t put it past you! Wait, Doctor who?” 

“Oh.” Even here, sitting on the floor of Leorio’s room where he’s safe from strangers overhearing anything he chooses to share about his private life, leaning against the bed with a box of takeout in his lap, Kurapika must have really been lulled into a false sense of security to let that one slip. He did say he was going to explain later; may as well get it over with. “Dove Barbadens, my new therapist,” he admits very quietly. 

“Good for you!” 

“Senritsu kept bugging me to look into it, and honestly after my carelessness nearly got Gon and Killua killed I couldn’t keep putting it off anymore.” 

“What’s she like?” 

“She knows how to make an impression. By way of an introduction she flattened me with her nen. After that I couldn’t wear the same outfit anymore, it was so full of holes.” 

“Look at the bright side, now you look sharp in a suit and tie.” 

“No, in a way it was reassuring that she beat me so easily. I may need her to do it again.” That, and he’s already thinking about the gaps in his own technique. 

“Hot.” 

“Stop.” 

“Hahaha you walked right into that one. Is she though? You haven’t said a thing about how she looks.” 

“That wasn’t one of my selection criteria, Leorio. But if you insist, and I know you will, I suppose one might describe her as attractive. You would probably be interested in her curves, although I’m not sure how you feel about a woman in her mid to late thirties. She is about as tall as Killua, with dark skin and light hair. She likes to wear a well-tailored blazer, a pencil skirt and a scarf with green in the pattern to accentuate her eyes.” 

“You’re more interested in her clothes than her curves?” 

“If I ever have to disguise myself as a woman again, I’m going to draw the line at fighting in heels.” 

***

September 12, 1999

Things I am thankful for: 

1\. Senritsu  
2\. Leorio  
3\. Gon  
4\. Killua

(Not necessarily in that order.) 

5\. Green Dragon Dim Sum’s lotus seed buns

***

Kurapika was expecting less interest now that the Underground Auction is already over and those who managed to escape unscathed have scattered back to whatever holes they crawled out of. Not that it was going to stop him from trying. Instead, he is pleasantly surprised to find that the Agency has a _lot_ more vacant positions on offer now that so many of the mafia representatives found their body guards, hit men and mercenaries killed on the job. Kurapika still doesn’t have much experience, but evidently having survived the auction was enough to significantly bolster his ranking within the Agency. 

“Can you narrow down the list to the auction participants who decided to remain in York Shin City or the surrounding area?” 

“That gives you two options. I’ll show you the list.” 

***

“Something has been bothering me. Is it normal for me to grieve the death of a hated enemy that I’ve wanted to exact revenge upon for five years? Why didn’t I feel any relief after removing a scourge from my life, or any satisfaction in a job well done?” 

“You know yourself better than I do, but I can make a few suggestions. Pick any one you like. You care. You feel like you’re killing a part of yourself, and your own past. You feel sympathy for a fellow human being in spite of the terrible things they have done. Exacting revenge will do nothing to bring your loved ones back to life. You don’t enjoy killing because it goes against your own morals. You are questioning whether you are doing the right thing. In this case you have a choice to make: either accept and learn to live with the contradiction between your morals and your actions, or change direction until the contradiction is eliminated. Each of us presents different facets of our personality to different people, but all of these facets belong to us. Contradictions can never be eliminated entirely; they are part of what makes us human.” 

Where does he go from here? It’s a lot to think about. Maybe Gon was right and he should just focus on recovering the Scarlet Eyes. What Kurapika wants most is closure. But at the same time, he is still putting himself and the people around him in danger as long as he hasn’t finished what he started. The Ryodan are still hanging on to one pair of eyes, damn them. Like insurance. Like bait. There is no easy way forward. 

“This looks like a good time to start on your stress response training. You said you’ve trained yourself to turn your eyes scarlet at will, correct?” 

Doctor Barbadens can read him like a book. “Yes.” It was so easy. All it takes is a little visualization, like a horrible, tortured version of his nen training. Eyes floating in a jar. The smell of smoke, blood, and charred flesh. Spiders, with their big black abdomens and their spindly crawling legs. Kuroro’s unconcerned face. 

“When do they turn back?” 

She has to repeat the question, because Kurapika wasn’t listening. “When… I’m too exhausted to feel anything anymore.” 

“Let’s work on that.” 

Kurapika blinks. Glass objects keep materializing around him in various colors until they fill up the entirety of the sixth floor; there must be hundreds of them. Vases, pots, fanciful but otherwise useless blown glass decorations, chairs, tables, and entire sections of wall complete with doors and windows. 

“Here’s what I want you to do. You can use your fists, or your swords, or a baseball bat, or a sledgehammer, whatever strikes your fancy as long as you don’t call up your nen. Go wild. Smash every object in sight. Don’t worry about getting cuts from any glass fragments; this ability is designed to disappear before it can hurt you.” 

Hell, he doesn’t need to be told twice. THIS punch is for his mom. THIS kick is for his best friend. And his next door neighbors. And his house. And his childhood. Seventy-two more for every damned jar with an eye in it. Another hundred for all the other villagers plus a few for good luck, and by the time he’s flinging chairs against the wall and screaming he loses count. Wait this is… fun? It would be excruciatingly embarrassing if there were anyone else in here watching him throw a temper tantrum like a sleep-deprived toddler. Thank god for the soundproofing and the shuttered blinds. While Kurapika goes on a destructive rampage, Doctor Barbadens takes the time to review his filled out questionnaire from the previous week. 

About twenty minutes later, breathing hard with his hair all out of place, Kurapika punts one last vase half-heartedly out of the way. That one was for Hisoka, because seriously fuck that creep, but not enough to kill him as long as he’s more useful than dangerous. Maybe he should have left a chair, because he could use some place to sit. Kurapika drops to a cross-legged seat on the floor, sighing and wiping the sweat from his forehead. 

“How do you feel?” 

“I needed that.” And it worked, too. He wasn’t even halfway through when he felt his capacity for introspection returning as the red mist dissipated from his vision. What a brilliant use for all of this glass. He has a new respect for her abilities. “What about you, Doctor Barbadens, wasn’t that tiring? How many objects did you just conjure? A thousand?” 

“Oh, thereabouts. Don’t worry about me, that’s what the signed contract is for. Now, about the results of your survey: based on the answers you gave me and our previous discussions, prescribing medication would be of limited use in your situation. We will focus on finding or creating healthier ways to manage and express your emotions.” 

“Such as?” He can’t exactly go around smashing all the lamps in his hotel room. 

“I have some more homework for you, Mr. Kurapika. Make sure you stay on top of your basic nen training for at least half an hour to an hour every day, two hours before bed, or to take a break from doing something else for a few minutes at a time if you feel stressed during the day. These could be exercises like holding onto your Ren for an extended time period or practicing the basics of the various nen categories. The goal is to wear yourself out a little to help you relax.” 

“You make it sound so obvious…”

“Mr. Kurapika, you’ve been neglecting yourself for five years. Don’t feel guilty for needing a little push before you can get into the habit of holding yourself accountable.” 

***

“You wrote me a prescription for ice cream? I can’t help feeling like the spirits of my relatives are frowning down at me for neglecting my duty while I run off and enjoy myself.” 

“Step back for a minute. Let’s talk about Kurapika in the third person, as if you were giving advice to someone else.” 

“Kurapika thinks this is weird.” 

“Bear with me. Your friend Kurapika is a stick in the mud who spends all of his time studying, training, working, and brooding about all the things that have gone wrong with his life. Sooner or later he is going to burn himself out. Is this healthy?” 

“…No?” 

“Your cousin Kurapika has landed himself in the hospital after rushing headlong into danger, because he valued his short term goals more than living his life. Are you going to let him slide without yelling at him?” 

Guilty, guilty, a thousand times guilty. Kurapika pictures Gon letting himself get beaten to a pulp by Hanzo out of sheer stubbornness just so he could pass the last phase of the Hunter exam on the first try, and realizes he’s been a hypocrite. 

“Be honest.” 

“Fine, I would tell my cousin Kurapika he’s being an idiot.” 

“Your brother Kurapika is lonely and miserable and he wishes he were dead. Is this what you would have wanted for him after you sacrificed your life for a slim chance to keep him safe?” 

“…” That one hit too close to home. 

“I can see you’re upset. Let’s try another exercise, one that you can take with you anywhere. You have been going on your daily walks, correct?” 

Kurapika nods, willing himself not to punch a hole in the wall or snap his guest chair in half. 

“Picture the wind rustling through the trees, the birds singing, the pots of flowers blooming on the front steps of a little house.” 

This isn’t working. He can’t hold the birds in focus when other jagged, sharp-edged memories keep slicing them away. “Help me.” 

“Breathe in. Hold your breath for four counts. Breathe out slowly. Hold your breath with your lungs empty for four counts. Keep counting until you’re ready to try again.” 

Okay. Flowers. _Wild Flower._ Senritsu playing her flute. _And then he went and killed Ubogin anyway._

“You’re holding your shoulders and your fists too tightly. Try to loosen your muscles.” 

“I can’t.” 

“Don’t be discouraged. Take all the time you need.” 

Doctor Barbadens leaves him to quietly wrestle with himself for the better part of an hour, before he finally fizzles out more out of failure than a result of any of his visualization attempts. Shit. Why do his eyes have to be so much harder to flip back to brown than red? 

“I’m going to prescribe you a hug on top of the ice cream. Every day. Put it in your journal.” 

“What if there’s nobody I feel comfortable with letting into my personal space?” 

“Then go get a massage.” 

From a total stranger? While wearing nothing more than a towel? Maybe he’ll stick with the hugs. 

***

Right now he only has two realistic options: Senritsu or Leorio. If Kurapika gives the choice some serious consideration, he doesn’t want to inflict the sound of his heartbeat on Senritsu from so close after he’s had a bad day; it’s bad enough recalling how she would wince when standing near him. 

This is going to be awkward. 

“Leorio, can I ask you for a favor?” 

“Shoot.” 

“Can I have a hug? Therapist’s orders. While I’m at it you might as well come for a walk with me and go get ice cream.” 

“Wait, are you asking me out?” 

Dating? If it weren’t for that loaded question the idea would have never had the time to cross Kurapika’s mind. He could _die_ tomorrow; there isn’t room to pin any hopes to his heart as long as there is still a sharp-ended chain pointing at it. “No, it’s right here on my prescription. I’m not making this up.” 

“Your therapist sounds pretty awesome. I will give you the best hug, I promise. C’mere.” 

Okay. Kurapika wraps his arms around Leorio’s waist, rests his head under his chin and listens to his breathing. Leorio squeezes him tight, an anchor. Kurapika squeezes back, and finds that he can’t let go. The last person he ever hugged was his mother. Maybe _this_ is what he should have been picturing all along, warm blankness and the faint minty smell of Leorio’s aftershave. “Today was pretty bad,” he mutters dejectedly into the lapels of Leorio’s blazer. “I couldn’t turn my eyes off.” 

Truly a sentence that couldn’t have made sense coming from anyone else. “This was your first try, right? Nobody said you have to get it in one.” 

“Which means I have to do it all over again next time. And the time after that. And the time after that. I’m so exhausted.” 

Leorio is rubbing circles into the small of his back, and all Kurapika can think about is what would happen if _he_ were torn out of his arms right now too, chunk by bloody chunk. Why did he let anyone get this close? It’s too dangerous. 

“Leorio.” 

“Are you crying?” 

“Don’t die.” Oh god, there’s a reason he hasn’t let himself cry in five years; it’s like drowning in a river of blood. He couldn’t turn his eyes off then and he can’t turn them off now. But he _can_ shut them. Black is better than red. 

“That goes double for you, dummy. If I have to stay up all night trying to break your fever again I’m going to kick your ass.” 

“I’m sorry.” 

“You’re getting snot all over my tie.” 

One watery laugh isn’t going to stop the waterworks. “Deal with it, L. Paladiknight, MD.” 

***

“Where am I?” 

“My bed. You dozed off so I took the floor.” 

“Oh shit, I’m late for work.” Kurapika is going to have to do something about all the wrinkles in his suit. 

“Chill, it’s Sunday. Didn’t you tell me you were going to be on night shift this week?” 

“Oh right. I need caffeine.” 

“You forgot about the ice cream, so I went out and picked up a box. Hope you like mint chocolate chip.” 

***

“So then we ate a very healthy breakfast of ice cream topped with cereal. I found it hard to leave.” 

“That’s adorable.” 

“It scares me. I have unfinished business, Senritsu. What if I get careless again and Leorio is the one to pay the price this time? Or what if they target you because of your connection to me?” 

“Would it make you regret the time we’ve spent together?” 

“No, absolutely not.” 

“Then all you can do is to plan for the worst and hope for the best.” 

Senritsu touches him lightly on the arm, and he offers a small smile in return. He didn’t come here to go down that dark rabbit hole forever. 

“Hey Senritsu, do you want to come with me to watch the York Shin Opera Company performing Mozart’s Magic Flute next Thursday night? This week Doctor Barbadens wrote me a prescription to go listen to some music, so of course you were the first person I thought of.” 

“I would love to. You’re so sweet, Kurapika. Thank you for inviting me.” 

“There’s something I have to confess… I was afraid to hug you because I thought my heartbeat was going to hurt your ears.” 

“Oh, Kurapika. I would never deny a friend in need for something that could be so easily solved with a pair of earplugs.” He’s been trying so hard. The pain and the hurt are just an undercurrent now, kindness fighting to bloom like a single defiant flower emerging from a crack in the sidewalk. 

“I was being irrational.” As Senritsu lets him fold her up in an embrace, it’s a relief to see that she isn’t wincing, or frowning, or trying to cover her ears. She seems so soft and fragile, Kurapika barely dares to breathe. Something about this moment is going to end up in his gratitude journal, if he can find the words to describe it without repeating himself. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Breakable nen objects! Great for parties and movie stunts.


	2. The Ossuary Waits For Two Pennies

For a big shot mob boss, Zenji’s security is absolute garbage. There’s nobody on patrol with En. Snipe out all of his security cameras from behind, and his alarm doesn’t even go off when someone busts through the roof instead of breaking in through a door or window like a common criminal. 

This isn’t theft, it’s confiscation. The objects in question never belonged to Zenji in the first place. 

_And that makes one._

***

“Pick up your damned phone! Geez, this guy skipped town without telling anyone again.” Somehow the prospect of celebrating the end of finals week with the hot girls from Nursing seems to lose its shine. “Do you think he’s going to be okay?” 

***

Deploying his Dowsing chain to catch himself just before he falls, Kurapika leaps from tree branch to tree branch, avoiding the leeches, mosquitos and ravenous needle-toothed fish lurking in the brackish water below. A cakewalk, now that he’s left the flock of swooping terror birds in the dust. His new robe is much more suitable for breathability and freedom of movement (and being washable) than his business attire. Surely this counts as his daily walk in a natural area, as well as practicing basic nen exercises? It’s fun, if he forgets about his mission for just a second. 

Found it. His destination is accessible from a tunnel through a pool of clear blue spring water at the base of a cliff, fed by a waterfall spraying down from above. In such a hot and muggy climate, Kurapika wasn’t expecting the water to be cold enough to make him suck in his abdomen and gasp involuntarily. He gives himself a minute or two to acclimatize. Deep breath. Dive. He ignores the buzz of his cell phone in his pocket. Geez, he even gets reception in the middle of nowhere underwater? Truly the Beetle is built like a tank. 

He comes up for breath in a narrow fault in the rock that leads all the way up to the top of the cliff. Here, in the sliver of light streaming down onto a flat mossy shelf, grows a very small, very old tree bearing jewel-encrusted fruits among its razor-sharp crystalline leaves. Unsheathing his pocket knife and shielding his hand against cuts with his nen, Kurapika very carefully takes a cutting of a single thorny branch, a sample of the moss it grows in, and a bottle of the cold spring water trickling onto it from the cracks. He places these all together in a ventilated box, then puts it away in his satchel to free up his hands. 

The trick is keeping the jewel-tree cutting alive. It will never survive the frigid plunge going back the way he came, so he has to climb the narrow fault vertically all the way to the top of the cliff. He goes from shivering to sweating in no time. There is no clear path back down from the plateau which would also enable him to avoid jumping back into the pool. 

What if… what _if_ , he could come up with a new ability to create a chain from the clifftop to the nearest tree, and use it as a shortcut to safety? A Grappling Chain. First he needs to be able to reach the treetops, with some kind of hooked, clawed or drill bit shaped end to create an anchoring point. It doesn’t need to be any stronger than his Dowsing chain, which is more than strong enough to hold his weight and take some damage, should anyone decide to attack it with a non nen-reinforced object. The tricky part is making the chain pull him along for the ride as it retracts, instead of disappearing from its longest point back toward the bulk of his aura. That, and he’s going to have to make it fight gravity and stay in tension if he wants to avoid an unplanned skydive. Does he need a second anchoring point? Will he need to detach the chain from his main aura entirely until he is finished using it, an Emitter skill? 

It’s too far. He will have to practice this skill somewhere safer that doesn’t involve a one hundred meter drop down a sheer cliff face until he’s confident that he can get it to work properly. For now Kurapika scales halfway down the cliff face until he is within Dowsing Chain range of the nearest tree. And away he goes. 

How troublesome. The terror birds have been waiting for him. At least he knows what he’s going to roast over an open fire for dinner tonight. The needle-toothed fish are welcome to his leftovers. 

Placing an advertisement with the Agency as a freelancer was worth it. 

_And that makes three._

***

They say the Diamond Basilisk can turn crystallize you into a human-shaped diamond statue with just one glance. Its cave is littered with grim treasure; the feat of hauling one of these grotesque sculptures back to a prospective buyer is challenging enough (careless and greedy though these underprepared treasure hunters may have been, it leaves a bad taste in Kurapika’s mouth knowing that their petrified bodies are unlikely to ever be returned to their families), but Kurapika’s new client is interested in the beast itself. Would his body be worth more as a diamond statue than the black market price of his eyes alone? Probably not. 

Not that he’s about to let that happen. 

All it takes to avoid the creature’s gaze is a blindfold over his eyes, navigating the cavern by aura alone as his Dowsing Chain leads the way. To avoid its touch, this is the perfect opportunity to test another new ability has been working on- a fine mesh of chain mail shielding his body from head to toe. 

Normal steel doesn’t have a hope of breaking though the Diamond Basilisk’s armored plates. Normal steel isn’t infused with nen. Still, with enough reinforcement, his swords are probably better for the job of piercing the tender flesh between its joints than trying to crack the shell open with blunt force. Dodging a swipe from the beast’s spiked tail, Kurapika jumps onto the beast’s back in an instant. He severs its jugular arteries in what he hopes is a quick and merciful death, jumping out of the way to avoid its caustic blood. 

That was the easy part. The body, most valuable when left largely intact, is still hazardous in death. When the muscles have stopped convulsing and the pool of blood has stopped spreading, Kurapika hops back down to ground level and transforms his chain mail into a large net around the creature’s corpse. This thing is _heavy_. Dragging it out of the cave, through the jungle, to the hired flatbed waiting in the nearest remote village, keeping his chain mail net active and hovering slightly above the ground for as long as he can possibly hold it is the most grueling three days of training he has ever put himself through. Every half hour he has to collapse into the nearest tree hollow for a nap. 

***

He made it back alive? One look at his mercenary’s face makes him think better of jacking up the price; this guy is too dangerous to keep around anymore. Sweat beads on his forehead and the back of his neck. 

“Mister Antonino, I believe we had an arrangement?” 

“Yes. Of course.” 

“It was a pleasure doing business with you,” responds the icy, steel-edged voice that never wants to see him or his ilk ever again. 

“I will write you a glowing reference.” The front door has already snapped shut on his empty obsequiousness. 

_And that makes six._

***

“Doctor Barbadens, have I mentioned that I _really hate_ entitled rich people?” 

“Have some time on your hands again, do you? For your prescription this week, I’m going to ask you to put some volunteer hours in at the inner city soup kitchen. The other volunteers ought to restore a little of your faith in humanity. Bring some donations, if you can. They’re always running short.” 

***

“Kurapika, I don’t know how to make soup.” 

“Me neither.” 

“Honestly you two. Just keep peeling and chopping vegetables and you’ll be fine.” 

“This is not how I thought I was going to spend my New Year’s break.” 

“Are you complaining?” 

“Only when you scare the shit out of me, you spooky ghost. Seriously, would it kill you to reply more often? Every time I get a text from you I feel like I’ve discovered a new species of cryptid.” 

“Boo.” 

***

“He WHAT?” 

“He burned all of his life force in one shot. The Hunter Association’s nen exorcist can’t even begin to touch him.” 

“Not Gon… out of all of us, I thought he was the _least_ likely to throw away all of his potential.” 

“I know. I really hate that there’s nothing more we can do for him than to keep him stable. Are you coming to visit him in the hospital?” 

“I’ll be on the next airship.” 

***

Is this… is this what his own death is going to look like, when Emperor Time collects its dues? No, on the slim chance that he lives long enough to find out at least Kurapika will be old. (Or will he?) Gon is _thirteen_. Barely older than Kurapika was when-

“Who took you to such a dark place?” Someone important to him must have died, right in front of his eyes. “I hope you bashed their face in so hard it left a scorching crater. I’ll give that bastard an extra punch for you in Hell.” 

Catching one glimpse of Kurapika on his way out of the hospital tent, feeling like he could explode from sheer uselessness, the Association’s nen exorcist goes pale. Here at least is someone she has the capability to help before it’s too late, if she could bear to stand anywhere near his aura. 

His mouth set in a grim line, Leorio slips an arm around Kurapika’s shoulders and herds him away to a corner of the tent where nobody is keeping watch. Hug. Now. Kurapika’s shoulders are shaking; he pounds at Leorio’s chest with his fists. 

“I didn’t even help him.” He wasn’t anywhere close. He didn’t even try to keep in touch. How could he have been so selfish he forgot to prioritize the living over the dead? 

***

For all Kurapika cares, the Chairman election could be taking place on another planet. Nobody is allowed to leave until the results are in, so he slumps into a seat somewhere in the back where he can disengage in peace. Not even the sound of Leorio making a fool of himself on stage can cheer him up. When all this is over, he needs to schedule another session with Doctor Barbadens as soon as she is available. 

“If I may…” The nen exorcist furtively passes him a business card; he blinks at it, uncomprehending. Later. When the door swings, open, he forgets about it entirely. 

_Gon. Bright and cheerful in hospital pajamas, like nothing ever happened._

Is this a hallucination? No sound comes out of Kurapika’s mouth. Of course Gon notices Leorio first; he’s right in the middle of the spotlight like there’s some kind of movie rolling before Kurapika’s eyes in slow motion. That looks like the best hug. Why didn’t he think to hug Gon himself, that time he barely made it down from the top of the hotel in one piece and the boy was so openly happy to see him? 

“Kurapika!” 

_Oh… it’s my turn?_ Also the best hug. 

“I’m dreaming.” 

It isn’t until much later that Kurapika realizes Gon’s dad was _right there_ , and both he and Leorio beat him to a hug by a long shot. Kurapika has a lot of catching up to do before he will feel like he earned it. 

***

“Gon, are you going to be okay?” 

“But I’m all better already! See?” 

“Are you _really_ going to be okay?” 

“Sure I am! Why?” 

“Gon. You did exactly what I would have done. I can only imagine you felt exactly how I would have felt, and that scares me almost more than it did seeing nothing but a spike of your hair poking out from among all the sheets of your hospital bed. Are you sure you’re not going to wake up in the middle of the night gasping for air because you just saw Kite getting killed in front of your eyes on replay for the hundredth time? You’re not going to punch a brick wall full of holes every time you see a cat in the alley, or stomp on a nest full of ants?” Did Something heal only his body, or did they somehow mend all the scars on his soul? 

“But Neferpitou is never coming back, and Kite is fine… except he’s a girl now and I’m confused.” 

“Then you should ask Kite to clarify.” Kurapika gives Gon one more hug before he is finally formally discharged from the hospital, still partially trying to reassure himself that this is real. “Gon, I pray that you sincerely never have to go through what I was talking about. But if you do, I can introduce you to someone. I think you would like her. She’s really strong.” 

“Okay!” 

***

“Killua, Alluka, is it alright if I talk to Something?” 

“They’re still really tired. I’m not sure if they will wake up, but I can try.” 

“You don’t have to, if it’s too much trouble.” 

But Alluka’s eyes have already sunken into bottomless black pits, like a haunted mask. Kurapika crouches down to their level and smiles. 

“Something, I know we’ve only just met, but I can’t describe how happy it made me seeing the way you healed Gon. You’ve done such a good job it’s nothing short of a miracle. Can I give you a really big hug?” 

“’Kay.” 

“Thank you. Thank you so much for everything.” 

“Something loves Killua!” 

“I know you’re going to take good care of your big brother.” 

One blink, and they’re gone. Kurapika slowly, carefully lets go to find blue eyes shining back at him. 

“Thank you too, Alluka.” 

***

 **Speed dial:**  
1\. Senritsu  
2\. Paladiknight, Leorio  
3\. Freecs, Gon  
4\. Zoldyck, Killua  
5\. Barbadens, Dove  
  
**Contacts:**  
Barbadens, Dove  
Basho  
Eliza  
Freecs, Gon  
Hanzo  
Hisoka  
Hunter x Association  
Ikalgo  
Izunavi  
Knov  
Knuckle  
Meleoron  
Morel  
Nostrade, Light  
Nostrade, Neon  
Paladiknight, Leorio  
Palm  
Senritsu  
Shoot  
York Shin Taxi  
Zoldyck, Alluka  
Zoldyck, Killua  


***

“Gon, slow down. I’ve already doubled my contact list in the span of one day. It wouldn’t be right to add Kite and Colt before I’ve even met them in person.” 

Predictably, Ging has long since evaporated from the premises. Kurapika would bet money that he doesn’t even have a phone. 

“Aw but I’m sure they would like you!” 

“Later, Gon.” Kurapika is far too introverted to keep up anymore. “Right now I need a book and a cup of tea.” 

“Careful, if Kurapika makes any more friends you’re going to overheat his brain and make steam start pouring out of his ears.” 

Kurapika elbows Leorio in the ribs. Leorio throws an arm around his shoulders. 

“Really? Like when I try to do math?” 

“You could benefit from learning about physics to help you come up with new Enhancer abilities, but you need to be comfortable with math first. And Killua, have you ever tried to create a magnetic field? Give me a call if you ever want me to teach you.” 

Math. The most difficult training of all. “Osu!” 

“Where are you headed next?” 

“I have work.” Senritsu doesn’t look terribly excited about it. 

“I’ve already missed too many of my summer classes and I have finals in three weeks!” Like hell Leorio was going to take summers off when he could become a doctor a year sooner. 

“I was planning to take Alluka and Something sightseeing around the world. They’ve been missing out on a lot.” 

“I promised Aunt Mito I would visit home after I found Ging. Want to come with me to Whale Island?” 

“That sounds nice.” 

What’s this? As Kurapika moves to put his phone away, he discovers a forgotten business card in his satchel. A nen exorcist. A stab of worry goes through his chest. Yes, maybe he’d better deal with this sooner rather than later. She must still nearby since she works for the Hunter Association headquarters, right? He adds one last contact to his phone before dropping it into his satchel. 

***

Kurapika can feel it before he even steps off the boat. The mountain, the lush greenery, the friendly greetings of the townspeople lining the docks, hollering and waving their arms. A tiny, remote, barely accessible community nobody has ever heard of. Everybody knows everybody. They clearly remember Killua, and now they’re openly curious about him and Alluka. What are they like? Where are they from? What interesting clothes they’re wearing! Are they Hunters too? The gossip mill turns shamelessly with complete disregard for who is in earshot. 

_Home_. Not _his_ home, but it rhymes. If only Kurapika never had to set foot in a big city again. 

It’s so easy to imagine his own grandmother, a whisper in the wind, repeating the well-worn refrain of grandmothers everywhere. _My, how you’ve grown! Eat up, you’re too skinny. Have you met someone yet?_

And that’s exactly why he can’t stay here forever. The enormity of his loss is such that he can only wrap his head around fragments, never encompassing the entire village at once. 

Gon tugs him down the gangplank by the arm, unstoppable at full steam. No sadness allowed! 

***

Aunt Mito and Gon’s great grandmother are exactly as Kurapika imagined they would be, and they are absolute wizards in the kitchen. After dinner Kurapika helps with the dishes. There isn’t a whole lot of space for all of them to cram themselves into Gon’s room and find space to sleep, but they’ll make it work somehow. Alluka should have the bed because she’s a girl, and the youngest. 

Killua and Alluka build an enormous sand castle together while Gon splashes in the surf. Kurapika is sprawled on a beach towel, reading an old, classic, wildly inaccurate tome of a science fiction novel. When he can spare the time to read for pleasure, his other favorites are biographies of interesting historical figures who had a positive impact on the world. Romance novels are too frivolous. Politics are too depressing. Murder mysteries are too real. 

Later Gon returns to his favorite fishing spot; the lake is as bountiful as ever. They sit around the campfire chatting about everything and nothing until the sky visible through the leafy canopy is dusted with stars. 

In exchange for teaching him to fish, Kurapika tries to teach Gon and Killua algebra, scrawling variables in the dirt with the pointy end of a stick while Alluka takes a turn with Gon’s fishing rod. This could take a while. It gets a little easier after Kurapika rounds up enough supplies from town to demonstrate simple machines. They spend the rest of the day hauling each other up to the top of a tree branch with ropes and pulleys, lifting things with wooden plank propped across a boulder as a lever, and racing toy cars and wheels and cylinders down a ramp repurposed from the same boulder and plank. 

Kurapika makes the fatal error of falling asleep in the shade of a broad leafed tree that must be centuries old, reclining in the cranny between two large roots, using his face as a bookmark. When he opens his eyes, the look on Killua’s face is too innocent, Alluka won’t stop giggling and Gon calls him Mr. Satotsu. The curly mustache scrawled on his face in black marker won’t come off in one wash. Trust no one. 

“Just for that I’m going to start you on polynomial functions.” 

***

“You don’t look tanned at all.” 

“It’s called sunscreen, Leorio. I don’t tan, I burn. I don’t even get freckles.” 

“You mean you’re an albino?” 

“First of all my eyes are brown.” 

“A part time albino.” 

“You’re hopeless.” But Kurapika is smiling. He’s amazed Leorio managed to crack a joke about his eyes and make it funny. “Second of all you know that’s a misconception and albinos usually have grey or blue eyes.” 

“Wait, does that mean Killua is an albino?” 

“I don’t know. I suppose if anyone could have figured out a way to become completely immune to sun damage by now, it would be the Zoldyck family.” 

“So how was your vacation?” 

“A vacation… I suppose it was, wasn’t it? Whale Island feels so relaxing and _safe_ in a way I thought I would never experience again in my lifetime. It must be one of the last unspoiled places on Earth. Maybe one day when I feel like my work is done, I could be happy in a place like that for the rest of my life, in a tiny little village where everyone knows _who_ I am but nobody knows _where_.”

This is the first time Leorio has ever heard Kurapika musing about his long term future. It’s a heartening sign. 

“Hey, do you want to see some dumb photos?” 

“Do I ever!” 

Kurapika tells a story about them all: His first fishing catch. Killua and Alluka’s impressive sandcastle. The elementary physics experiments. (Maybe next time if Gon and Killua have finally wrapped their heads around the quadratic formula he can start explaining how to calculate the trajectory of a projectile, and they can build miniature catapults to demonstrate.) And of course the Satotsu mustache. Leorio wants to get that one framed. 

“Oh.” The mood sobers as soon as it hits him. “It’s September.” 

“Yeah, I can’t believe it’s been a whole year since we all met up here.” 

“The Underground Auction is happening again in only a few days.” 

“Are you going?” 

“I have to. It’s a valuable source of information even if they’re selling… other things.” 

“Hey, you be safe out there. I have a bad feeling about this.” 

The Ryodan are known never to strike in the same location twice. But somehow, Kurapika can’t shake the feeling that Leorio is right. 

***

“Senritsu, I’ve been thinking. I need to come up with better conditions for Emperor Time. It isn’t worth it.” 

“None of us spoke up about it at the time, but that’s exactly what we were all hoping you would say.” 

“I know. I’ve been selfish. I would have probably thought the same thing if I were in your shoes.” 

“I would start by reconsidering when you need to use your abilities.” 

“It would still have to be when my eyes are scarlet, because otherwise I’m not as proficient in areas outside of the Conjurer class. I would use it when my life is in danger, or I’m trying to protect someone I care about. But I don’t feel like those conditions are strong enough.” 

“Even without using your lifespan as a restriction, it’s probably a good idea to set a time limit given the amount of aura you are trying to consume.” 

“But then what if I need to hold someone captive for a few hours?” When he created Emperor Time and Chain Jail he never accounted for the possibility of not killing his target immediately at the first available opportunity, and it cost him dearly. Now- and this shocks him when he realizes that it’s true- Kurapika is no longer sure if he wants to kill them at all. 

“Knock them unconscious, then get help?” 

Get help. Part of what makes the Ryodan so strong is their teamwork. 

“Are you going to the auction this year?” 

“Yes. I’ve been following a strong lead. One of the auction items this year is the Violin of Whispered Promises. They say the woodworker who crafted it was so bitter that his musical genius was never recognized in his lifetime that his nen curses anyone who ever draws a bow across the string to one year of breathtaking talent, fame and fortune, followed by a precipitous decline into madness.” 

“I’ve been browsing the catalogue as well. I find it suspicious that another pair of Scarlet Eyes would turn up this soon at the same event after the incident last year.” 

“Good luck.” 

“Cover my back and I’ll cover yours.” 

“I’m really glad you’re not doing this alone.” 

***

Senritsu is sitting a few rows away so as not to attract attention. Even from a distance it’s reassuring to know that she’s there. 

“For our next item, we are pleased to announce-”

_It was a trap._

“Hey you, weapons are not allowed in- hrk.” 

Shit, shit, _shit_ , no disguise is capable of masking the _pure loathing_ in his aura, and it’s a dead giveaway. 

In the time it takes for the door guard’s severed head to drop to the floor in a pool of spurting blood, the auction hall erupts into a melee of shoving, shouting and fighting. Some mafia thugs clamor for their own weapons. Some try to stampede their way to the door. Some pick up the nearest chair and start beating the shit out of their neighbors as the announcer tries to call order. The crowd parts warily around Nobunaga as he charges in a straight line-

Towards **Senritsu**.

“OVER MY DEAD BODY, YOU SON OF A BITCH!” 

Anchoring his Grappling Chain into the ceiling, Kurapika swings over a sea of heads to land a solid kick right on Nobunaga’s face. 

Senritsu takes a deep breath and _plays_. This piece is called the Pied Piper. A lively jig fills the entire auction hall, bewitching everyone in it from the announcer to the brawling attendees. _A tavern at the top of a hill in a little village surrounded by rolling hills striped with farmers’ fields. The moon is full and the stars are winking playfully._ Choreographing her audience with the end of her flute, she nudges Kurapika and Nobunaga back to their feet a healthy distance away from each other, while the rest of the mafia put their chairs back down and dance their way out of the exit doors in an orderly fashion. 

Her ability reaches its time limit. Kurapika and Nobunaga blink dazedly, trying to remember where they are. Their heartbeats are a shade more pleasant to listen to. “Gentlemen.” 

Nobunaga points an accusing finger toward Kurapika’s chest. “It was so easy to find you, I could laugh. What, did you think I was going to let you get away just because you haven’t come after us in a year?” 

“I changed my mind.” 

“Bullshit.” 

“I have better things to do with my life than to waste it on you.” 

“Like I care. Ubogin still needs a playmate in hell.” 

“Your fight is with me. Leave Senritsu out of this.” 

“Yeah whatever. Only because that song was catchy as hell.” 

“Thank you.” 

“Kurapika-”

“It’s fine. I knew I was going to have to face them again sooner or later. You were the one selling those under a fake name to lure me out, right?” Kurapika knows better than to look. He wants to keep a level head now that Senritsu screwed it back on properly. 

“Yeah, so?” 

“If I win, the eyes are coming with me. If I die, I want to be buried in Lukso Province.” 

Huh. The chain user is acting almost cordial. “Where do you want to fight?” 

“Somewhere without all these chairs in the way.” 

“Let’s go.” 

One thing is certain; Kurapika is going to need Emperor Time to pull this off. He reviews all of his revised conditions:  
  
\- Behind the contacts, his eyes are scarlet. That was a given.  
Thank god Senritsu stopped him from completely flying off the handle before he could even form a plan.  
\- There’s a good chance he isn’t making it out of this building alive.  
\- He is about to burn through his nen like a rigged candle at both ends.  
Having just come back from an entire month on Whale Island, this is probably as well rested as he’s ever going to get.  
\- Time limit: half an hour. If he hasn’t won by then he’s as good as dead either way.  
\- When Emperor Time deactivates, he will force himself into Zetsu until he is fully rested.  


But will it be enough? Even if it only boosts his Enhancer proficiency to 70 or 80%, he has to take that risk. 

Senritsu has done all that she can; there’s nothing left now but to worry. She follows at a distance as they walk up to the lobby level. Kurapika snatches his swords up from the coat check while Nobunaga pokes his head into a series of doors until he finds a big enough empty event space. Nobunaga gestures at the open double doors with his katana. Kurapika nods back, setting his satchel and scabbards aside in the far corner. He turns to face Nobunaga, one sword in each hand. 

Alright, a proper swordfight! This is going to be fun. Paku’s memory bullet only mentioned swords as a vague footnote. This Kurapika guy was probably banking on it- he’s up to something. Gyo reveals nothing more suspicious- yet- other than the Enhancer-like aura around the Conjurer’s swords, which Nobunaga was already half expecting. Damn, that’s crazy to confirm with his own eyes. Nobunaga makes the first move, slashing at him straight from the scabbard. Kurapika somersaults over the resulting shockwave. 

Thrust, block, parry, jump, dodge, hack, stab, sidestep. For those who are capable of following the play by play with their eyes, the pair of them could still be dancing to the beat of the Pied Piper that took over all their limbs like puppet strings. Behind the fear, Senritsu is both fascinated and flattered. 

Kurapika’s movements are fluid, graceful, fast enough to keep up, and reinforced enough not to get his swords sliced in half like butter by superior nen. Oh yeah? Well he’s physically much smaller and lighter. Throw enough force at him and he’ll either have to shift some of his reinforcement on having to keep his legs rooted, making the rest of him more vulnerable, or he’ll be knocked backwards. Nobunaga keeps relentlessly on the offensive until he sees his opening. He strikes. 

Bang. As the force of Nobunaga’s nen tosses him off his feet, Kurapika conjures a weighted Chain Mail net over Nobunaga’s head from the pinky of his left hand. Shit, this was _not_ in the cliff notes. Nobunaga dodges, running after him. Kurapika hits the back wall- feet first, using it as a springboard- and launches another Chain Mail net right in front of Nobunaga’s face. Direct hit. Now Kurapika has him on the defensive, entangled and cursing and trying to slice his way free while fending off Kurapika’s dual-wielding swordsmanship. 

Kurapika drops another, and another, juggling his skills between nets and swords in rapid succession. He keeps trying to herd Nobunaga into his sword strikes by directing his movements with the nets, and it’s annoying as hell. Some Nobunaga dodges, some he slices into ribbons. This kind of rapid fire multitasking must take a high degree of concentration, and sooner or later he’s going to fuck up. His usage of Enhancer skills _must_ be weaker when he’s busy Conjuring. The longer it goes on, the more bruises, nicks and cuts Nobunaga manages to get past Kurapika’s crossed swords, while so far Kurapika hasn’t touched him at all. 

What Nobunaga doesn’t realize is that Kurapika is juggling _three_ skills at once instead of two. The instant each shred of Chain Mail hits the ground, Kurapika hides it with In without letting the conjured chains disappear. Keep Nobunaga too busy to use Gyo for long enough and the floor of the event space will be littered with traps anywhere he steps: A page straight from his therapist’s playbook. If he makes it to a thousand conjured objects and survives, he’s going to ask Doctor Barbadens for a rematch. 

If this isn’t about revenge anymore, what is Kurapika fighting for? His eyes dart over to Senritsu, watching with bated breath and wringing hands from just beyond the doorway. If only he had time to smile at her. Fishing. Sandcastles. Ice cream for breakfast. Gon springing out of bed, brought back perfectly hale and hearty from the brink of death. With the banquet hall blazing scarlet in his vision and the ring of metal clashing on metal in his ears, the flash of inspiration hits Kurapika so hard it costs him a nasty gash across the abdomen. 

Got him! _Now_ he’s scared. Look at how wide his eyes have gone-

And the chest. 

“Nobunaga, I forgive you.” _That’s_ the condition he was missing. 

“Well _I_ haven’t. Did you expect me to magically stop fighting you?” 

And the right arm. 

“Of course not, that would be hypocritical.” 

He is bleeding profusely, and his reaction time is slowing down. 

“It took me six years.” It was the hardest thing he’s ever done. Harder than picking himself up out of the wreckage that used to be his home and leaving it all behind, harder than getting his Hunter’s License, harder than all of his nen training rolled together. 

The pain is searing and so warm, a straight line severing him halfway from reality. Kurapika finds his own blood oddly comforting, like he’s suddenly sure everything is going to be okay. 

“This is your last chance to run.” 

“Big deal.” 

Except- Kurapika’s Ren just doubled. 

Every scrap of Chain Mail snaps up around Nobunaga like the toothy leaves of a Venus flytrap closing around its prey. In the precious half second it takes for Nobunaga to wrestle free, he is already too late; Chain Jail binds him from head to toe in its constricting python coils. 

Kurapika takes a moment to heal himself before the blood loss saps any more of his nen. It takes more effort than setting a broken bone and taking down the swelling: Internal bleeding, organ damage, bacteria where they don’t belong, ruptured blood vessels, skin, scar tissue. All traces of his injuries disappear, but his Holy Chain can’t bring back the lost blood linked to the source of its power. When he’s finished he feels light and dizzy. Probably a bad sign. 

So this is how Ubogin died. Nobunaga _can’t use his nen_. What a fearsome ability. He struggles in the chains, but it’s utterly useless. 

Better make this quick. Kurapika aims his Judgement Chain at Nobunaga’s heart. “I’m going to let you go on three conditions.” 

_What._ “You’re not going to kill me?” 

“If you don’t meet the conditions I set, my Judgement Chain will stop your heart instantly. The choice is entirely yours.” 

“Why do I get a choice?” 

“I told you, I forgive you. Don’t make me kill you; I’m going to feel like shit about it.” Especially not in front of Senritsu. The thought of it makes him shudder. 

“Is that how you felt about killing Ubo?” 

Kurapika flinches like _his_ heart is the one being pierced by the sharp end of a chain. _Like a coal burned to ashes, trying to resurrect a forest._

“And Pakunoda?” 

_Like cutting a structural support beam out from under a house with a family inside._ “Worse,” Kurapika sighs quietly. 

“Okay.” Nobunaga looks up with the air of having reached a decision. “I believe you.” 

“First condition: Don’t attack me or my friends.” 

“What, not even in a friendly way?” 

Was that some kind of joke? “We are never going to be friends.” 

“Ha! That’s exactly what Gon said!” 

“That’s because Gon couldn’t fathom how you could mourn the loss of your friend but have no compassion for all of the thousands of people you’ve killed and _their_ friends and loved ones. I couldn’t agree more. Second condition: Never kill or permanently maim anyone again.” 

“Aw come on, that’s too harsh. A guy’s gotta defend himself.” 

“Fine. But only in self-defence. Third condition: seek out a nen exorcist and I _will_ kill you. Have I made myself clear?” 

“You’ve got a stick up your ass.” The instant the chains fall away, Nobunaga goes rummaging around in Kurapika’s satchel for his phone. 

“Hey that’s mine!” 

“No shit. I’ll text you my number.” 

“Give it back.” 

“What? You’ve already got Hisoka in there, it’s not like I can make your contact list any worse.” 

But Kurapika isn’t listening anymore. Emperor Time deactivates. His aura vanishes. All the red drains out of his eyes, then his face. Swaying on his feet, he passes out before he even hits the floor. 

Nobunga shrugs, and puts Kurapika’s phone back where it belongs. He waves to Senritsu on the way out, whistling a few bars of her Pied Piper theme. 

The auction is back in full swing. Nobunaga steps back up onto the stage and swipes the Scarlet Eyes away. “Hey assholes, the deal’s off. You’ve been outbid in a conditional auction.” 

***

Kurapika is as pale as a sheet of paper, a limp dead weight draped across Leorio’s arms. A scowling, grumbling Leorio nearly kicks down the door of his own apartment, reluctant to set Kurapika down on his feet to fumble for his keys and even more reluctant to ask for a hand. How endearing. Following close behind with the Scarlet Eyes wrapped up in a box from the auction, Senritsu smiles to herself when Leorio isn’t looking. While Leorio fusses over Kurapika, Senritsu carefully sets the box down and sets out for the kitchen to put on a kettle for tea. 

Leorio gently lays Kurapika down on the floor, and wheels his desk chair around to prop Kurapika’s feet up. Kurapika’s hands are cold to the touch. Is he going into shock? Does he need to take him to the ER? Bloodstains be damned, he drapes a blanket over Kurapika’s body to warm him back up. Pulse: rapid and shallow. Probably low blood pressure. Breathing: almost normal. Forehead: warm to the touch, but not feverish (yet?). Gyo: exactly as little aura as Leorio suspected, with traces of the Holy Chain still clinging to the dried blood layered over the ghosts of Kurapika’s wounds. _Shit_ , that gash must have been deep. 

A hint of pink returns to Kurapika’s cheeks. His eyes flutter open: brown, unfocused, and slow to trace the movements of Leorio’s index finger from left to right. 

“How many fingers am I holding up?” 

“…Two?” 

“Wrong answer. You’d better not move for at least fifteen minutes. If you’re starting to feel better you can put your feet down and lie flat for fifteen, then sit up for another fifteen. No sudden movements.” 

“Oh, he’s awake? Thank goodness.” Senritsu sets down a steaming mug beside Leorio. 

“He can’t drink this yet. I’m not letting him sit up for half an hour.” 

“It’s for you. I can boil some more water later.” 

“Oh, thanks.” Maybe by the time he’s done with Kurapika it will have cooled to a drinkable temperature. “You said Kurapika lost a lot of blood, right? Hot water with honey will be better than tea for now. Caffeine is a diuretic.” 

Kurapika closes his eyes, losing himself in the comfort of the voices of his two closest friends in the whole world. 

“Still with us?” 

A tiny nod. 

“I need to examine you. Is it alright if I take off your shirt?” Or what’s left of it. Under the blanket Leorio sacrificed for the cause, Kurapika’s shirt is a clotted mess. 

A tinier nod. Half conscious and still shy. Leorio makes a mental note to tease him mercilessly about it later. 

First he scrubs his hands clean. Then Leorio very carefully peels the cloth away, making sure he isn’t taking any skin along with it. The biggest bloodstain is in an _alarming_ location. _How_ close did Kurapika get to being disemboweled!? He sterilizes a cloth and starts wiping away the dark, sticky blood with rubbing alcohol until he has a better idea what he’s looking at. 

Ugh. The loss of the blanket and the evaporating rubbing alcohol is a double dose of cold. Kurapika frowns and shivers. 

Damn, his healing ability is remarkable. There isn’t a scratch on him. 

Leorio presses down lightly with his hand along the line of aura formed by the traces of Kurapika’s Holy Chain. “Does this hurt?” 

Kurapika shakes his head. 

“Good.” No need to risk driving to the hospital when the mafia still has the downtown core on lockdown. All Kurapika needs are rest, fluids, warmth and a little bit higher blood sugar and he’ll be back on his feet tomorrow. Leorio covers him back up; for a moment Kurapika rests his hand over Leorio’s over the outside of his blanket. Then Kurapika wraps his arms over the covers and lets his mind drift. 

Half an hour later Kurapika is sitting up with the blanket around his shoulders, much more lucid and slowly sipping away at his mug of hot water. His eyes drift around the familiarity of Leorio’s apartment, landing on Leorio, Senritsu, and the suspicious looking box by the doorway in turn. “Is that-?”

Senritsu nods. 

“Then Nobunaga actually kept his word…”

_That makes seven._

Leorio has already heard what happened from Senritsu, but they both want to hear Kurapika’s version of the story. So he starts at the beginning, with his blind rage at the very idea that Nobunaga could harm a single hair on Senritsu’s head. He has made a lot of progress with Doctor Barbadens in the past year, but he still has a long way to go. He only vaguely remembers dancing to the Pied Piper; it felt completely different from Senritsu’s Wildflower- bright rather than soft- but it still managed to calm him down enough to shake him back into control of himself. It must have done the same for Nobunaga because his whole demeanor changed afterward, and he was much more willing to talk rather than say everything with his fists. While still skilled enough in basic combat when necessary, Senritsu’s abilities lend her to more of a support role than backup in a fight, so Kurapika was relieved Nobunaga agreed to leave her alone. Kurapika describes how he relied on Emperor Time, his swordfighting skills, and a new skill Pakunoda hadn’t extracted from Gon and Killua’s memories before she died, how he decided to forgive Nobunaga, and how he isn’t sure what to do to defend himself from the other Ryodan members yet. He doesn’t actively want to go after them anymore, but he also doesn’t want to be a sitting duck. 

“Tell me,” Leorio accuses, “ _How_ much of your lifespan did you just spend!? Didn’t you _just_ get your own nen exorcised and you blew it all again in one day!??” 

Kurapika shrinks into Leorio’s blanket. “None. New conditions.” Although that isn’t strictly true in the metaphorical sense: on pure dumb luck he must be down to at least five or six lives out of nine. If there were even one more Ryodan member after him at the same time, he could be a mutilated corpse by now. “It could have gone a lot worse if Senritsu hadn’t been with me. I want to thank both of you for your help.” 

“You’re lucky I’m not the type of guy to kick your ass when you’re down.” 

Kurapika grins into his mug. “Write an IOU and address it to Cousin Kurapika.” 

“Huh? You have a cousin?” 

“No that’s my therapist’s nickname for the barbarian sitting behind my prefrontal cortex who charges off into battle without a plan. I’ve been trying to evict him.” 

“Poor Cousin Kurapika. Left out in the cold.” 

“Then there’s my Friend Kurapika, the workaholic who isn’t allowed to have any fun, and my Brother Kurapika who is mired too deep in the misery of the past to appreciate the present and plan for the future. It’s a thought exercise to help me logic my way out of my own head.” 

“Which one are you right now?” 

“The New Kurapika.” 

“What’s he like?” 

“Kind.” Senritsu fills in for him. “Loyal.” 

“Grateful.” Kurapika adds. 

“Forgiving.” 

“I’m still working on that one.” 

***

_Nobunaga: hey_

_Nobunaga: meet me at the canyon_

_Nobunaga: I want you to show me where you buried Ubo_

Kurapika stares at his phone for a solid five minutes. His fingers start tapping out a reply. What the hell is he doing? 

_Kurapika: Now?_

_Nobunaga: see you in 40_

***

They step out of their respective cabs, Kurapika silently leading the way. He showed up dressed to the nines in all black; it seemed appropriate. Nobunaga appears to have the same idea. Somehow he looks a lot more formal with his hair down. The effect is only slightly marred by the fact that Nobunaga is carrying a twelve pack of beer. Kurapika isn’t about to ask him whether it was paid for with legal tender. 

“Here.” Kurapika gestures at the makeshift grave. Out of sight of the taxi drivers, he removes his shades; he isn’t wearing any contacts over the scarlet eyes underneath. Being here is upsetting, although he can’t quite place a finger on the most dominant emotion currently battling for reign over his heart. Grief, regret and awkward uncertainty layer themselves over the echoes of the deep-seated anger he had been feeling the last time he set foot in this place, clashing incongruously with the nebulous understanding he managed to reach with Nobunaga. A chill runs up his spine. He’s done what Nobunaga asked; surely he isn’t needed anymore. Kurapika really, really doesn’t belong here. “I should leave.” 

Nobunaga tosses him a can of beer. Kurapika automatically catches it, looking back at him incredulously. 

“No thank you, I’m underage.” 

“Ubo, can you believe this guy? Walk him two steps away from the mafia and he’s a goody two-shoes. You must have had fun fighting him, huh? Me too, he got me good. I bet you went out with a Big Bang. Not a bad way to go. I heard you’re thirsty down there.” Nobunaga pours out a beer for the restless soul before their feet, then cracks open a second beer for himself. “Cheers.” 

“I suppose… since I’m here… I ought to forgive you too.” Kurapika sighs, his eyes fading back to brown. “I want this to be over.” The more he presses on, the more self-conscious he feels uttering the words on his mind aloud, in front of Nobunaga. “If I had met you a year later, it might not have been too late to tell you so in person, and I might not have done some other foolish things I regret. It started with Pakunoda, and the unsettling, gnawing feeling that in another life, under other circumstances, I might have grown to like her. If you meet her, you can tell her so. Then again, maybe she already knows. You can have my beer, if you don’t mind that this one is from me. I don’t want it.” A second can of beer spills into foaming rivulets on the caked earth. Kurapika can feel the chill dissipating from behind his back, along with the tension in his shoulders. 

“You mean that about Paku?” 

“Why would I lie to a dead person?” 

“Come to Meteor City sometime. I’ll show you around.” 

“You would trust me?” Kurapika is absolutely floored. 

“I thought that was obvious. We’re here, aren’t we?” Nobunaga gives him an expressive shrug. “You’re strong. You’ve got balls. When you weren’t a total asshole about defeating me I decided I like you.” 

Already? Just like that? “ _How?_ ”

“In Meteor City, life is cheap, brutal, and short. There’s always someone ready to steal all your shit because there isn’t enough to go around. If you’re weaker, you die. If you’re stronger, you survive another day. If you take death too personally, you’ll never get any shit done. Just like our useless council.” Nobunaga insisted on being stubborn. That’s why nobody else wanted to join him on his mission and Franklin has been giving him shit about it all year. 

“That’s the way the world works _now_. The difference between you and I is that I refuse to leave it that way.” 

“Ha! You stubborn shit disturber. So how about it?” 

Kurapika seriously considers it. There’s still so much he needs to understand. 

“I will.” First, he needs to finish gathering the rest of the Scarlet eyes and give his family a proper funeral. Then he needs to forgive Kuroro. “When I’m ready.” 


	3. Between a Teacup and a Sheet of Paper

“And, open your eyes.” 

As creamy brown as milk chocolate, with a swirl of caramel. 

“Thirty seconds, a new record. Congratulations.” 

Kurapika smiles, genuinely pleased. After months of trial and error he’s finally hit on a formula that works. Not even all of Senritsu’s music, Leorio’s jokes and the entirety of Whale Island rolled into one were sufficient for him as a calming visualization exercise. Now his go to memory, still just as shocking as when it first happened to him, is Nobunaga giving back the pair of Scarlet eyes, and lifting his can of beer in a toast. Acknowledge the wrong, then choose to let it go. 

“I think we’re ready to move onto the next step. I will warn you ahead of time that this next step is going to be very hard on you at first, because we need to start overwriting your triggers until they no longer jump straight to your subconscious. Remember: you are the author of your own narrative. You can’t always choose what happens to you, but in time you can always revise how to contextualize it, what it means to you, and how you let it affect you.” 

Doctor Barbadens conjures a smoky glass figure of a tarantula on the wall. Kurapika smashes it so quickly with his Dowsing Chain that it may as well have been a reflex straight from his spinal cord. 

“Breathe, Mr. Kurapika. When you’ve calmed down, we can try again.” 

Oh god, it’s like being dragged all the way back to the starting line. About a hundred glass spiders later, Kurapika is tired, irritable, and ready to snap at anything and anyone. The more he crushes, the more he wants to smash into dust. 

“Let’s try a different exercise. Mr. Kurapika, in your own words, what is a spider?” 

“A twelve-legged tattoo on the back of each Ryodan member, with a number in the center. The head represents their leader, Kuroro Lucifer.” 

“What _else_ is a spider?” 

“An arachnid with eight legs.” 

“What does a spider do?” 

“Commit theft and senseless murders for fun and money.” 

“Give me a different answer to the same question.” 

“Spins webs?” 

“Go on.” 

“Bites people? Injects poison? Catches flies? Crawls on the wall?” 

“All of these are correct. The more you repeat this exercise, the more likely you will be to skip ahead to one of the more neutral answers first. Lastly: Why do you want to make the active choice to forgive?” 

“Because I don’t like forcing myself to kill someone, no matter how much I think they deserve it.” 

“And?” 

“Because weighing myself down with grievances makes me miss out on the people who are more important to me.” 

“Anything else?” 

“Because I’m _tired_.”

“We will repeat this exercise as often as it takes. This is enough for today. For your prescription this week I would like you to try a new creative pursuit to help channel your emotions in a positive direction. Have you ever tried drawing and painting?” 

***

“Leorio,” It’s so hard not to _whine_ that now he just sounds small and pathetic. “Can I sleep over at your house tonight?” 

“For a price, my dear friend. It’s your turn to ply me with dinner.” 

“You’re obnoxious.” 

“You love me.” 

Kurapika feels better already. 

***

“You don’t have to take the floor again.” 

“You’re the guest.” 

“Fine.” Kurapika lies down beside him, wraps his arms around Leorio’s middle, buries his face between Leorio’s shoulder blades, and promptly falls asleep. 

Uh. This sure is a thing that happened. For this much awkward it really would have been more comfortable to just stay on his bed. Leorio’s eyes are wide open, staring at the shadowed dust bunnies underneath. What the hell is he supposed to do now? Is he allowed to move? Is he allowed to turn over and hug Kurapika back? How about cuddles? How about kisses? How about- keep your mind out of the gutter, Leorio. But he’s so warm and so close and so _pretty_ , and he _gets him_ more than the hot girls in Nursing ever will. It’s a hard slippery slope not to fall down. Was Kurapika just having a bad day, or has he changed his mind about angling for something more than friends? 

***

“Damn it Kurapika,” Leorio scowls across his breakfast, “All logic dictates that _I_ get to be the big spoon.” 

Kurapika neither confirms nor denies any of the questions Leorio doesn’t dare to ask, but his face does light up in a laugh. 

***

“Doctor Barbadens, my artwork is terrible.” 

Doodles of chains in the margins of his gratitude journal. More realistic chains with lighting and shading in pencil. Scribbles in red pen. An entire canvas splattered with red and orange. (He was really not in a good mood that day). A trained chimpanzee could do better than this and sell it. 

“As a fellow Conjurer, I can truly understand.” She opens a door off the fifth floor corridor that Kurapika had assumed led to some kind of office or a supply closet; inside is a studio containing dozens of still life paintings of glass vases, glass sculptures, glass ornaments, stained glass windows, and shattered glass, sitting beside a shelf displaying row upon row of the real thing. “I keep meaning to do a garage sale and I never make the time.” 

“These are really good. Have you ever tried selling them to an art gallery?” 

“Still life paintings are dime a dozen, I’m afraid. The best I could do is to decorate some kind of office space that buys artwork in bulk, but I can’t quite bring myself to stoop that low.” 

“I would buy one.” 

“You flatter me. Help yourself. I’d rather have it appreciated for free than sell out to someone who is never going to look at it.” 

Kurapika picks his way around the room, finally selecting a canvas of an organic looking glass sculpture painted in a mosaic of earth tones, reflected in a transparent surface over a black background. “I like this one.” He finds the cool colors soothing. 

“If artwork isn’t your thing, have you tried learning to play a musical instrument?” 

“That’s a big time commitment.” 

“You get as much out of it as you put in. With an hour of lessons every week and some practice every day at home, you can grasp the basics in a few months.” 

***

“Hey Senritsu, I was wondering… could you teach me how to play music?” 

Senritsu beams at Kurapika like she’s only been dying for him to ask since the day they met. 

***

Senritsu’s living room is sorted by orchestra section: the baby grand piano by the window with a white crocheted doily draped across the seat stands next to a much smaller foldable electric keyboard; the violin, viola, cello and bass are all lined up next to each other along the wall beside an acoustic guitar and its electric counterpart; the drum set in the corner is surrounded by a miniature forest of bongos, kettle drums and a xylophone. She has two entire shelves dedicated to wind instruments of various sizes all neatly packed away into their cases, including a piccolo, a clarinet, an oboe, a tenor and a baritone saxophone on the top shelf, with a trumpet, a French horn, a trombone, and a baritone sitting underneath. The tuba didn’t fit. Kurapika wonders how far away a Music Hunter could blast someone into the distance with one of those. 

“Wow, you know how to play all of these?” 

“Of course! But I prefer the flute for my nen because it’s small and portable.” 

“I’ll have to listen to you play them all sometime. What instrument do you think I should play?” 

Kurapika strives for strength and independence. _An instrument that can stand alone, or harmonize with others._ He can use all types of nen, and blend into all types of backgrounds on a mission. _An instrument that lends itself to a wide variety of styles._ He fights with two swords ambidextrously, and his inventiveness with his conjured chains is rapidly filling up the fingers on both hands. _An instrument played with the fingers on both hands._ Analytical, yet full of emotions. “I think the piano would suit you nicely. I can lend you an electric keyboard to practice on.” 

“Hmm yes, I think I can picture that.” 

“How much do you know about music theory?” 

“Not much. Start me from scratch.” 

“First, you need to learn how to read a musical score. This is the treble clef, you will play this part on your right hand. This is the bass clef, which you will play with your left. These numbers are called the time signature. They represent the number of beats in each bar. Let’s start with a simple scale in the key of C, so you can see which notes correspond with which keys on the keyboard before we start complicating it with sharps and flats.” 

The first week is all about muscle memory, playing scales and warm up exercises over and over again until his fingers know where all the keys are and his ears remember how each one is supposed to sound. Then he begins the slow process of matching the sounds with the notes written on the page, letter by letter, as if he is sounding out words based on how they are spelled. It really is like learning to read; the notes are the letters, the chords are the words, the phrases are the sentences and the instruments are the characters. 

***

Playing all the way through a musical score with Senritsu is like devouring a novel- _and_ having someone to share all the highlights with. And more- Kurapika isn’t just passively following a narrative, he’s actively bringing its voice to life with his own hands. Senritsu is clearly in her element here, among all the scales, the chords, and the perfect balance of logic and beauty. It’s impossible not to get swept along in her enthusiasm. 

[The real magic happens when she picks up her flute.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZuYjZNTwfdo)

***

Kurapika can’t drive like this; he can barely tell when the traffic lights turn green. If he attempted to rode the subway, or run here on his own two feet, his horribly conspicuous aura would have scared away anyone within glaring range and made children cry. This is exactly the reason he had to take the box with him. He hasn’t even _opened_ it yet and his tension is already spiking. “Stop here.” 

“Hey. Need another hug before you go?” 

“Later. I have to do this myself.” 

“If you say so.” Kurapika’s therapist has been working wonders on him; Leorio is just going to have to trust her. “Call me when you need a ride back.” 

“Thanks,” Kurapika almost forgets to mutter, protectively clutching the parcel to his chest as he slides out of the passenger door. 

His feet follow the same old routine; the jump up the fire escape, the tap on the door that shatters it completely; the step inside. At Doctor Barbadens’s request, he climbs to the sixth floor after her, sets down the box in the middle of the floor and reveals its contents. Her esteem instantly raises in his eyes when she doesn’t gasp and call them pretty. Kurapika has never once managed to change his eyes back to brown while seeing a pair of his family’s eyes on display, even in the privacy of his own home. This is going to be an excruciatingly long hour. 

“Mr. Kurapika. Please describe how you are feeling right now.” 

“Mad as hell.” 

“What do these eyes mean to you?” 

“My family was slaughtered, their corpses were desecrated, and this pair of eyes was sold to a rich collector, all because someone decided they were beautiful.” 

“Who does the pair of eyes in front of us belong to?” 

“I don’t know yet. I will be able to identify which grave to match it to when I am within close enough range with my Dowsing Chain.” 

“If you knew who these remains belonged to, what would you say to them?” 

“I haven’t forgotten you. I think about you every day. I feel your hurt, and your anger, and your exhaustion. Hang in there a little bit longer. I promise you will be able to rest soon.” 

“What would you like to say after you have returned these remains where they belong? Have you thought about that?” 

Kurapika is silent for a long pause. “I love you,” he almost whispers. “I miss you. I want you to have peace and happiness." 

“Imagine if they were alive and well, if only for a day. You haven’t talked in years. What do you reminisce about? What has changed in your life? What will never change? What are your biggest plans for the future?” 

“But they’re so upset. Why would they be interested in my life while they’re clearly in pain?” 

“For the same reason you turn to your friends after a bad day. They care about you. They want to know how you are doing. Maybe they want to be distracted from their pain, and hear something happy for once. Maybe they need someone to share their burden with. Maybe they need consolation.” 

Kurapika tries to meet the gaze of at least one eye in front of him, and calls up a series of half-remembered faces in his memory. Who could it be? He doesn’t even have a family photograph. _What do you need the most right now? Probably a hug. And a good cry._ He can tell them about Gon’s miraculous recovery at the hospital. But first he would have to explain who Gon is; quite a long story. Then as he gathers the rest of the remains of his family, he will have to repeat it for those who haven’t heard it yet. He’s sure they won’t mind hearing it more than once. 

“Remember, Mr. Kurapika,” his therapist’s gentle voice startles Kurapika out of his reverie. Color has quietly seeped its way back into the room; the only red that hasn’t faded resides in the glass jars in front of him. “You are free to begin mourning at any time, from anywhere. It does not require passing a test of faith, or completing any precedents. The barriers you place in front of yourself are artificial.” 

***

“You don’t want to come up to my apartment. It isn’t much to look at.” 

“Are you sure you don’t need any company? You seemed pretty subdued on the drive back.” 

“I… suppose so. For a little while. But I don’t really feel like talking.” 

“That’s fine.” 

Kurapika barely spends any time here other than to sleep and commiserate with the spirits of his family. The furniture is sparse. He has a bed and a dresser and a closet with a few changes of suits, robes and disguises hanging in it. There is a sewing machine and a box full of fabrics and supplies sitting in the corner; for the past several years the only way to get robes that remind him of home has been to make them himself. The second bedroom contains nothing but shelves full of eyes. Its door is guarded by a detached piece of Dowsing Chain hidden by In which he renews every time he leaves the house; the chain is designed to alert him and capture any intruder he didn’t invite inside. His living room has a couch, a coffee table stacked with more books than he has time to read, and a writing desk containing his gratitude journal and a pen. Doctor Barbadens’s painting hangs by itself on the wall behind the couch, offering a splash of color. 

Yeah, the shelf full of eyes is creepy. Leorio tears his gaze away and desperately grasps for something else to stare at. 

“I didn’t know you play the piano.” 

The keyboard and its accompanying music stand are a new addition. “Senritsu is teaching me.” 

Kurapika very carefully places the pair of Scarlet Eyes back on the shelf, among all the others. “This is my close friend Leorio,” Kurapika whispers to the spirits of his family, so that only they can hear. “He is studying to be a doctor. Don’t mind him if he gets too loud. His heart is in the right place.” He quietly shuts the door, and leaves them to rest. 

It’s too early for bed, he isn’t in the mood to read, and The Girl with Flaxen Hair is too soft and beautiful to displace the hollow ache he is feeling. He’ll have to ask Senritsu to guide him through the score for something sad next. For lack of a better idea what to do with himself, Kurapika puts on a kettle for tea. He opens the cupboard and sighs. He’s down to two mismatched teacups again; not even learning nen has cured him of the bad habit of tossing them at every stray spider that has the misfortune of crossing into his field of vision. 

While they wait, Kurapika sits beside Leorio on the couch. Leorio slips one arm around his waist and pulls him close. Kurapika rearranges himself more comfortably, and winds up with Leorio’s hand stroking though his hair. Feels nice. By the time the water is boiling, Kurapika can’t be bothered to get up. 

*** 

Every evening Kurapika tells the eyes a new story, then he leaves the door ajar while he practices on the keyboard, in case anyone would care to listen. Every evening the sight of them sitting in a row on his shelf becomes a little less upsetting. He hopes he can make them feel a little at home here until they get to go back. When that happens he won’t be able to visit very often. He ought to set up a shrine to keep in touch, including with the eyes he hasn’t recovered yet and the villagers who never had scarlet eyes to begin with. 

***

He’s been practicing for this in and out of Doctor Barbadens’s office for more than a year. He’s been inspecting every corner of every wall in his apartment on a daily basis. And today, Kurapika is Not Going To Fuck This Up. 

Target located: a fat, yellow little wolf spider haplessly sitting on the living room wall in plain sight. Run, you fool. 

Step 1: Breathe. 

Step 2: No seriously, get those eyes under control. If the spider escapes by the then it’s your own damned fault. 

Step 3: Get a cup, and a piece of paper. 

Step 4: For the last time, don’t throw the cup. You’ve gone through an entire tea set already. 

Step 5: No nen. No Ten. No Ren. Don’t even THINK about Hatsu. Force yourself into Zetsu, if you must. 

Step 6: Put the cup around the spider. 

Step 7: Slide the paper in under the cup. 

Step 8: You’ve made it this far, for the love of god DO NOT squish it. 

Step 9: Pick it up and take it outside. 

Step 10: Run whooping with glee straight to Leorio’s apartment with the evidence. The subway is too slow. 

Step 11: Oh shit you forgot to call him. 

Step 12: BUT LOOK! 

Leorio answers the door shirtless, bedheaded and unshaven in a pair of pajama bottoms. “Jesus fuck, Kurapika, it’s six in the morning. I have to leave for class in an hour.” One look at Kurapika breathing hard and grinning from ear to ear sure wakes him up a lot faster than coffee. 

“Look, Leorio,” Kurapika whispers, barely able to contain himself. After the suspense of running all the way here he can’t help it; his eyes slip back out of control. “I didn’t squish it.” 

Leorio gapes. Wait a minute wait a minute. Kurapika forgot his contacts. And his sunglasses. Kurapika’s eyes are scarlet and he’s _smiling_? Is that a thing? Leorio will tell him later; he wouldn’t burst this bubble for the world. 

Very slowly, holding his breath, Kurapika lifts the edge of the cup off of the sheet of paper in his palm. As both of them peek underneath, the terrified spider finally makes a break for it. 

“Bye, tiny hunter!” 

“ _Kurapika._ Holy _shit_.”

“I didn’t squish it!” 

“You didn’t squish it!” High five! 

“Woo hoo I didn’t squish it!” 

Step -4: What cup? Toss your hand up in the air and go all in for that high five. 

CRASH. The cup shatters into a hundred tiny pieces. Kurapika stares at it for a second of stunned silence, then proceeds to laugh himself to tears. Leorio herds him inside and shuts the door before the neighbors start complaining about all the noise. Here. Take this chair. And a pillow. Kurapika collapses in the chair and takes the hint, doubling over and whooping helplessly into Leorio’s pillow between gasps of air. His shoulders won’t stop quaking. While he waits for Kurapika to run out of steam, Leorio picks up a brush and a dustpan and sweeps up all the broken porcelain from the corridor. 

Melting into a giggling heap, Kurapika remembers to dig up his phone and dial all of his favorite contacts. 

“Senritsu, know what I did today? I put a spider outside!” 

“That’s wonderful! I’m so happy for you.” 

“Gon, guess what! I found a spider and _I didn’t squish it!_ ”

“Yeeeeeaaaaahhhh!” 

Killua… maybe Killua won’t appreciate being jolted out of bed this early. He’ll just text him. 

He can talk to Doctor Barbadens in person later. 

Kurapika jumps up and collides with Leorio in a tight hug, all smiles and affection. When Kurapika looks up at Leorio with the entire sunrise dancing in his eyes, it’s the most beautiful goddamned sight he’s ever seen in his life. Not a single one of the hot girls from Nursing (nor any of the guys for that matter) have ever knocked his breath flat out of his lungs like _this_.

“Hey Kurapika, when you said you weren’t asking me out… would you care to reconsider?” 

“You want to date me?” 

“Yes.” 

“Even if I’m always out of town?” 

“Yes.” 

“Even if I’m terrible at staying in touch?” 

“Yes.” 

“Even if I keep putting myself in danger?” 

“Yes.” 

“Even if I put _you_ in danger?” 

“Yes. Come on Kurapika, have a little faith. I haven’t been making time to practice my teleportation skills for nothing.” 

“Even if… I’m not sure if I can give you what you want, because I’m not even sure what I want yet?” 

“Yes.” 

“Why would you do this to yourself, Leorio?” 

“Because it’s too late, I’m already hooked.” 

Kurapika has always thought of love and attraction, when he thought of them at all, as too unimportant among his priorities to merit consideration; strange, foreign animals that only reveal themselves to other people; weaknesses to be exploited by the enemy. Now he considers Leorio: shirtless, unshaven and in pajama bottoms, and decides that the idea, while perhaps a bit overwhelming, is not unappealing. Maybe… he’s ready to start a relationship. Maybe he’ll never be ready.

“Leorio, I’m… scared. You’re too important. Promise me no matter what happens, I will never lose you as a friend over something as stupid as jealously, or drama, or wanting to get into my pants. I won’t survive.”

”It isn’t like that, I promise. This is going to sound stupid and cliché, but I can’t bear to see you hurt and exhausted and unhappy. I want to hold you. I want to kiss it better. Seeing you smile is like watching the sun come out after a thunderstorm. It kicks me right _here_ in the chest. The way you were looking at me just now… you nearly stopped my heart.”

Damn if that cliché doesn’t give him butterflies. “Does your offer include daily hugs and ice cream?”

“Is water wet? Is fire hot? Are you going to make me late for class?”

“Oops.” Kurapika grins apologetically. “I got carried away.”

”I want to see you get carried away.” Leorio leans in to whisper in his ear. “Repeatedly and with enthusiasm.”

Oh god. Kurapika was not prepared for one casual, less-than-innocent caress under his shirt just over his waistband to turn ‘not unappealing’ into ‘yes please’. (Still overwhelming.) His face goes as hot as his eyes.

“You forgot your shades, by the way.”

Then Leorio has the audacity to get dressed and _leave_.

***

“Kurapika! Your heartbeat sounds so different. I can even hear it in your playing. Did something happen?” 

“I… think I’m in love with Leorio. Against all logic and common sense, he loves me too.” 

“Aw, that’s wonderful! He’s going to be so good for you, I just know it.” 

“He deserves better. Leorio can be so _thoughtful_ it makes my heart ache. I barely even know how to be nice to him.” 

“You’ve been working hard on becoming a better person, Kurapika. Don’t discount your own efforts. Spend time with him. Talk to him. Ask him what’s important to him, think about what’s important to you, and eventually you’ll figure out how you fit together.” 

“You make it sound so easy.” 

“Love has a tendency to make everything feel easier than it really is.” 

“Only if it works out. I didn’t plan for any of this. Up until very recently, my heart was so broken, I couldn’t imagine being attracted to _anyone_. Now I’m so afraid of messing this up I’m going to spend the next month stressing about what if scenarios.” 

“Until he kisses you. Then you won’t have time to overthink things.” 

“No that’s going to make it _worse_. He can turn my eyes _scarlet_ , Senritsu. I didn’t even know that was possible when it isn’t from anger or grief.” 

“Relax, and don’t rush things. I’ll be cheering for you.” 

***

“Leorio?”

“Hmm?” 

Kurapika has taken to incorporating Leorio in his daily walks as often as both of their schedules permit. In a secluded area of a hiking trail without a lot of foot traffic, Kurapika has conjured his satchel full of weighted chains as a nen exercise. As they walk, Leorio works on sending isolated snippets of his aura out as far as he can in random directions without concentrating on it too hard. Both of them are maintaining their Ren. 

“Have you thought about what you’re going to do after you finish medical school?” 

“Well first I have to get an internship, then I have to do three or four rotations in remote areas before I can start my own practice. Somewhere in between then or afterward I need to make enough money to pay off the student loans I took out on my Hunter License, and enough capital to start my own business. That’s when I’ll need to take on some Hunter related jobs. Just short ones, every once in a while. Enough to keep me afloat.” 

“Where would you start your practice?” 

“I’d like to go back to my hometown and visit my parents. Once my practice is well established I’d like to travel every once in a while and do some house calls in other towns. I know there’s only one of me, but there are poor people everywhere who could use my help. I can’t just get lazy and leave them waiting until it’s too late. In the meantime I want to develop some kind of healing ability like your Holy Chain or the way Senritsu can relieve fatigue, but I also want to work on my combat skills so I can defend myself on a tough mission or in a rough neighborhood.” 

“I envy how you seem to have your life all put together.” 

“What about you? What are you planning to do after you recover the Kuruta clan’s eyes?” 

“I’m going to return them where they belong, with a proper funeral. And then… I don’t know. It seems so far away, I can still barely believe I’m going to make it that far. I want to visit Meteor City.” 

“Meteor City!? Home of the mafia hit man talent pool, shady political exiles, future Zoldyck family butlers, and the Genei Ryodan? Are you fucking serious?” 

“Yes. It’s my last step to making peace with the past, and understanding why this happened. If I can’t do that, then I’m always going to be afraid that at least one Ryodan member is still out for my blood.” 

“I’m coming with you and you can’t convince me otherwise.” 

“You’re not going to try to stop me?” 

“I know you better than that. Besides, you think any of those kids eating literal garbage can afford any medicine?” 

“There’s just one problem. I won’t be on my own. Well, not exactly. Nobunaga offered to show me around.” 

“WHAT!?” 

Now he has some explaining to do. “There’s- something I haven’t told anyone, because I wasn’t sure what to make of it myself. It happened after I forgave him and he insisted on adding his number to my phone-”

***

“Doctor Barbadens, how do I stay in control of my emotions when I see a friend in danger?” 

“Ah. That’s very difficult, and something we can only replicate in my office with visualization and thought exercises, which are thousands of times slower than the way these situations unfold in real time. The main thing you can do is to speed up your thought process. First, work on identifying and acknowledging your anger more quickly. Second, practice making split decisions by laying down plans for different possible scenarios before you encounter them. Third, practice live combat to make these different scenarios easier to predict and react to. The goal is to weaponize your anger without cutting yourself with that double edged sword.” 

“May I spar with you again?” 

“Certainly. I would be interested to see your progress.” 

***

“I’m so tired. My new record is three hundred and seventy three conjured objects.” 

“Do you want to cuddle?” 

“Are your cuddles better than your hugs?” 

“I get to put my hands all over you, so yes.” 

“Within _reason_ Leorio. Slow down.” 

“I’ll behave. But _reason_ still includes my bed. We are not sleeping on the floor again.” 

“Then yes.” It’s never been this difficult telling anyone what he wants before, like some kind of admission of weakness. “I do want to cuddle.” He actually thought to bring pajamas and a change of clothes this time- light blue flannel, not terribly different from how he feels in the training outfit he wears under his robe- although he has a long way to go before he gets used to the idea of making this sort of thing a regular occurrence. Kurapika takes out his contacts, gets cleaned up and changed, and makes himself as comfortable as he can beside his heart-thundering self-consciousness. 

Leorio, also in his pajamas, settles in behind him and wraps his arms around Kurapika’s waist. He smells good, fresh out of the shower. Kurapika is grateful that Leorio doesn’t move or speak for several minutes, patiently waiting for him to relax. He sighs, letting out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. Leorio’s left hand comes up to brush fingertips against his cheek, then his neck, then his shoulder, dipping just underneath the fabric at his collar. Kurapika shivers. 

“You okay?” 

“Yeah.” 

“Sure?” 

“I’m… not used to this.” Nothing more than a feather light touch, and it’s unspeakably intimate. “You’re giving me goosebumps.” 

He can hear Leorio’s mischievous smile. Leorio’s left hand returns to his waist, hiking up his pajama shirt in the process of caressing Kurapika’s abdomen. Kurapika clings to Leorio’s right arm, eyes wide in the dark. 

Yes, this is better than a hug. 

***

The yellow pins shatter through Kurapika’s attempts to swat them away with his Dowsing chain; even with a burst of nen through his feet, he barely manages to dodge the poison in time. 

“You’re Killua’s brother, aren’t you? We met during the Hunter Exam.” How inconvenient. He knew sooner or later one of the mob bosses he swindled, cheated or outright stole from was going to call a hit on him. 

“That is correct.” 

“I don’t see the point of a disguise if I can recognize you by your Hatsu.” 

“ _They_ don’t know that.” 

“How much do I have to pay you to make you go away?” 

“The price on your head is five billion Jenny. Make it six and we have a deal.” 

Well worth the money. Kurapika is nowhere near strong enough to hold his own against Illumi in a fight yet. “Send me your banking details and consider it done. Quite frankly I’m insulted. My head alone would be worth double if I were already dead and unarmed.” With Illumi’s ability to manipulate information out of him, Kurapika values his current market estimate on himself and access to the remains of his family that he managed to gather so far at around two hundred billion Jenny. “Next time you should charge more.” 

“I will keep that in mind.” 

Only there won’t be a next time, because Kurapika is going to embezzle away enough of Zenji’s funds to pay himself back, with an extra charge for the hassle. Play with the mafia and you play by their rules. Kurapika knows all the little tricks; a shell of a corporation with no employees headquartered in East Gorteau, a thousand miniature money laundering franchises, forgery, identity theft, threats and blackmail. He’s been saving up to buy back the preserved head of his childhood best friend. One day when he’s ready to leave the underworld and its dirty money behind, Kurapika is going to divest it into paying off their street level dealers, racketeers and prostitutes enough that they can start their lives afresh and the drug lords have nobody left to work for them. 

***

_Kurapika: I owe you an apology._

_Kurapika: I was in a dark place, but that isn’t an excuse for being rude to you._

_Izunavi: Still alive huh? The wonders never cease._

_Kurapika: How funny you should ask. I just survived an assassination attempt._

_Izunavi: You’re welcome._

_Kurapika: Eat shit, windbag. I bet I could kick your ass in a rematch._

_Izunavi: Prepare to be schooled, you punk ass bitch._

_Kurapika: Want to go get sushi after? I know a good place near the Agency._

_Kurapika: It’s on me._

***

“Kurapika.” 

“Don’t look at me like that. My Holy Chain doesn’t work as effectively without Emperor Time, but the bruises and scratches should clear up by tomorrow.” 

“What on Earth have you done to yourself this time?” 

“I was catching up with my nen master over dinner.” 

“And they served you a black eye? Did you start a bar fight or what?” 

“No, I was overconfident.” 

“Don’t look so smug about it.” 

“I kept Izunavi on his toes. I’ll get him next time.” 

“I’ll get you some ice.” 

***

A kiss on the forehead, a kiss on the bridge of his nose, a kiss on his left eyelid- Kurapika goes stiff in Leorio’s arms and turns his head away. 

“Did I make you uncomfortable? I’m sorry.” 

“You’ve been staring at my eyes.” 

“Come on Kurapika, that isn’t fair. You were staring at _me_.” Like he was lost. Starving. Leorio could practically feel his insides melting. “Tell me what’s bothering you.” 

“I… liked it. Then I snapped and the anger came back. Not all of it, just enough to ruin my mood.” Kurapika takes a deep breath. “Leorio, do you think my eyes are beautiful?” 

“That’s… geeze. It never really goes away, does it? Deep down you’re still scared that every stranger you meet could be the next one to objectify you and try to steal _your_ eyes away? Do you want me to lie and tell you I don’t find your gaze irresistible? Except when you’re angry; then they’re terrifying and heartbreaking. Your eyes are very expressive.” 

“I hate them. They’ve been nothing but a curse on my life. I never want anyone to have eyes like mine again.” 

“You want the Kuruta Clan to go extinct?” 

“They already are. My survival was a fluke. I may as well be a ghost.” 

“Bullshit. Even if you never want kids, it isn’t like you to just give up and let your culture die. What were your favorite foods when you were little? What kind of stories and songs did your grandparents love to tell a thousand times? What do the patterns on your robes mean? With you gone, nobody will ever know and nobody will ever be able to ask. You like reading, right? You should write a book.” 

“You’re going to laugh; this is so ironic. Do you remember the blue robe I was wearing when we first met? The yellow symbol at the bottom that looks like a sort of triangular infinity sign? It means good health and longevity.” 

“Pffft. You sure weren’t acting like it.” 

“I know. And the design on the back, that looked a bit like a mirrored square root symbol with a dot in the middle? It means curiosity and learning.” 

“You’ve got that one down in spades.” 

Leorio has given him an idea. All this time Kurapika has been sewing clothing for himself purely for practical reasons. Hiding his Dowsing Chain with In, he takes note of Leorio’s measurements in numbers of chain links. Kurapika reaches up to trace a border around Leorio’s heart with the tip of his index finger. 

“What does that one mean?” 

“Thoughtfulness.” 

“What’s the Kuruta symbol for love?” 

“A crescent moon and the sun. In an old folk tale, their eyes turn red as they pass over the horizon because they can’t bear the thought of being apart for one more night.” 

He knew what was coming, yet he still wasn’t prepared. Leorio traces a moon and a sun over his heart; Kurapika feels all his breath stuttering out of him. How can the world take on this terrible color and feel so warm and _soft_?

“You can… kiss my right eye. So it doesn’t get jealous of the left one.” 

The next kiss is on his lips, just as it should be. Kurapika winds his arms around Leorio’s neck. 

***

“Doctor Barbadens, I made a gift for you. You can think of it as a thank you, or as an exchange for your painting. I hope you like it.” 

Kurapika has sewn her a light green scarf patterned with the Kuruta symbols for Peace, Wisdom and Gratitude in darker green. 

“Thank you. That is most kind of you. I see you’ve discovered a different form of art.” 

“Leorio- my boyfriend-” the word has such an unaccustomed taste in his mouth- “told me I should write a book.” 

“What are you going to write in it?” 

“Folk stories. Symbols and their meanings, with illustrations. Clothing patterns, but not the ones I’m planning to make for my friends. Those are personal and they would lose their meaning if anyone ever copied the design.” 

***

“Kurapika! Hi!” 

“Gon? Wow, your voice has gotten so deep I almost didn’t recognize you. How are you? What have you been up to lately? Have you been keeping up with the math lessons I taught you?” 

It’s been too long. Swapping adventures (mostly on Gon’s end) takes the better part of two hours, and by the time Kurapika is getting tired Gon sounds like he’s barely getting started. 

“What are your shirt and pants sizes? I want to make you something.” 

”Seriously!? You’re not including your hair, are you? When did you grow taller than me?” 

“I know your favorite color is green but is it alright if I pick something a little different?” 

“Come and visit me in York Shin. It’s probably easier than trying to figure out where to mail something to you when you’re always on the move. You can stay at my place if you don’t mind that it’s mostly quiet and empty other than… well… the remains of my family that I’ve been gathering.” 

***

Kurapika has never thrown a party before. Inviting Gon, Killua, Alluka, Leorio, and Senritsu over for the countdown to New Year’s was supposed to be a small, almost shy affair. Then he realized he doesn’t have enough tables or chairs, and by the time he returns home with two folding tables and a set of four folding chairs, he is just in time to catch Gon, Killua and Alluka red handed decorating his living room with balloons and streamers and tacky dollar store decorations. It’s like he’s five again and he’s the birthday boy. Except this time Kurapika will be the one handing out gifts. 

“Know what this place is missing? Paper chains. Did you bring any construction paper, tape and scissors?” 

“Paper chains. Of course you would.” 

“Don’t care. Know what else is missing?” 

“Pizza!” 

Yeah Kurapika still can’t cook. This is going to be a large order. Who knows how much more Gon and Killua can demolish now that both of them have shot up like weeds seemingly overnight. Killua is slim and wiry. Gon is well on his way to developing the build of a tank. 

“Snacks!” 

“Alcohol.” 

“You’re too young.” 

“I’m resistant to all kinds of poison.” 

Later in the evening after everyone has eaten their fill of pizza and chicken wings and cake and soda, and the conversation is beginning to flag, Kurapika hands out gift bags one by one and hangs back to watch. “Let me know if anything doesn’t fit, and I can make some alterations.” 

For Gon: A tan jacket buttoned across the chest, with the symbols for Courage and Strength stitched on in gold over each pocket, with a loose fitting pair of pants to match. 

For Killua: A slim grey turtleneck with the symbols for Loyalty and Intelligence boldly featured on the front in light blue. 

For Alluka: A silky gold dress patterned with red lilies, with the symbols for Hope and Freedom bordering the sleeves and hem in white. 

For Senritsu: A white dress patterned with snippets of the flute part of Smetana’s Moldau, with the symbols for Harmony and Tranquility in white along a black sash around the waist. 

For Leorio: A dark red collared shirt to wear under his blazer, with the symbols for Health and Longevity, Thoughtfulness, and the sun and moon of Love painted in tiny, subtle detail onto the buttons. 

That night, he gets a whole week worth of hugs, all at once. 

“Let’s go to Neon Square and watch the fireworks!” 

“Yeah Kurapika, isn’t this your third New Year’s in York Shin and you’ve never gone?” 

“It’s too crowded. I don’t see the appeal.” 

“That’s because watching it on TV is super lame.” 

“Let’s go up on the roof then!” 

“Alright, I suppose I should see it up close at least once. We’d better start walking now if we want to make it in time. All the roads are closed downtown and the subway is going to be packed.” 

***

It’s midnight. It’s cold. It’s windy. There are a few flakes of drifting snow. Kurapika still doesn’t see the appeal (or the fireworks for that matter). Honestly, Leorio could have just kissed him at home, _without_ the unnecessary addition of Killua snickering at him. 


	4. York Shin General Hospital

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have discarded pretty much all of the Succession Arc canon for the purposes of this fic. From this chapter on there may still be some minor spoilers for anyone who hasn't read all the manga up to volume 36. I also haven't seen or read Kurapika's Memories / Phantom Rouge, but I data mined Hunterpedia for some references so there may also be spoilers for that.
> 
> See end notes for a ton of music.

How does one carve any sort of normal routine out of _this_ nonsensical schedule? Kurapika is aggressively going to make it work, damn it. He needs a _life_ , not an empty disposable husk.

1\. Wake up and take a lightning fast shower.  
2\. Make tea. It reminds him to eat something.  
3\. Body guard some spoiled child or another. Sometimes during the day. Sometimes all night. Sometimes on call.  
(At least he likes the younger ones, while they’re still unbiased and innocent.)  
4\. Terminate contract. Hop to a new job. Advertise.  
5\. Chase down leads, or outsource them to hunters he trusts (like Basho, Hanzo and Izunavi).  
6\. Do some questionable banking, pay a few bribes.  
7\. Keep an appointment with Doctor Barbadens.  
8\. Go pet a kitten, or plant a tree, or whatever Doctor Barbadens has assigned this week.  
9\. Answer a desperate plea for help from Gon to help study for his entrance exams. 

It seems Gon’s phone calls with Kurapika are getting more and more frequent, and longer and longer. Kurapika doesn’t mind. In fact talking to Gon is often the highlight of his day. He’s always so _happy_ when Kurapika picks up the call that Kurapika feels guilty every time he comes back from a mission to see that he’s missed several of them.

Aunt Mito’s firm, steady guidance has helped Gon realize that there is more to learn in life than can be gleaned from running around and exploring. After neglecting school for a couple years he’s been studying hard, using his summers to catch up. The biggest obstacle on his way to completing his high school credits once and for all is calculus. Gon wants to get into Life Sciences majoring in Magical Beasts so he can join Kite’s research group and their conservation efforts.

10\. Squeeze in nen practice and a walk with Leorio.  
11\. Practice playing piano.

“No.”

“Come on Kurapika, how come you never let me hear you play? You’ve been at it for three years and I know how scary fast you learn things, like a sponge. You must be good by now.” 

“Senritsu is the one who makes it sound nice, I’m just the background. Besides, I’m sure you’d get bored of all the scales and practicing the same little segment of one song over and over again until I’m confident I can get it right.” 

“Pretty please?” 

“Well… alright. There is _one_ song- I heard it in town when I was visiting Gon on Whale Island and when he called me up to ask me what I wanted for my birthday last year, it was one of those impulses that bypassed my brain and flew straight out of my mouth before I could understand why.” 

Kurapika quickly locates the few pages of sheet music he actually owns as opposed to borrowing them from Senritsu. He spreads them out on the keyboard’s music stand then brushes his fingers across the keys without pressing down as if reading silently to himself. He takes a deep breath in, then out. Then he begins to play. 

Soon the comforting melody washes away his self-consciousness, leaving him absorbed and focused. His right hand is flowing water, cascading down the mountain into the lake, the waves lapping at the shores. His left hand is the forest, the dappled green shadows of the understory, the creatures flitting through the foliage. Sometimes both hands are flowing water, a melody and a countermelody chasing after each other like birds. It sounds like peace and life and lightness, and _Gon lives there_. Kurapika first heard this song played on some kind of pan flute. In the piano arrangement, he captures less of Gon’s cheer and boundless energy and replaces it with something softer and more contemplative. Is that coming from him? Kurapika supposes it must be. 

“Exactly what your vacation sounded like, yeah?” 

“I guess so.” 

“What the hell are you so bashful about? You’re a real Renaissance man Kurapika. I swear you’re getting smarter every day.” Kurapika sinks lower in his chair. “Wait, I know. It’s because you haven’t gone on another vacation in two years, isn’t it.” 

It’s telling how he immediately leaps to the defensive. “Neither have you.” 

“Okay you’ve got me there. I miss those kids. We ought to go visit sometime. And my family too, you still haven’t met them.” 

“Can’t. Too busy.” 

“You’re right. Damn it.” 

“Does it count as a vacation if… no never mind. Forget I said anything.” 

“Now you have to tell me.” 

“I’m almost done, Leorio,” Kurapika’s voice drops to a whisper. “I want to go home.” 

12\. Drop everything and disappear on a hunt (bounty, treasure, Scarlet Eyes, an informant) for a week or three. Or five.  
13\. Remember to phone someone he’s been neglecting. There’s _always_ someone he’s been neglecting.  
14\. Restock on sad bachelor groceries. Who has time to cook?  
15\. Teach Killua linear algebra.

Killua still doesn’t have a clear idea what kind of Hunter he wants to be. It’s alright that he hasn’t decided; he still has so much time to figure everything out. However he does know that a degree in Electrical Engineering is going to give him a much better grasp on his already impressive nen abilities. Other than that, all he really wants to do is protect his sister. Since they’ve been living together on their own, Killua can scarcely believe how easily Alluka has landed on her feet. 

Dot products? Cross products? The determinant of a matrix? Curl? That isn’t so hard to explain. But even _Kurapika_ needs to brush up on his knowledge when it comes to Fourier Transforms. After spending his first five years out of the Kuruta Village training with his swords and his knife and cramming his head with all the book smarts he could possibly get his hands on like it was somehow supposed to fill the black hole in his heart, he hasn’t ever needed to use the vast majority of it. One forgets. 

All around him, Killua, Gon and Leorio are all working toward their own respective higher educations, and here Kurapika is with a brain full of useless trivia (really, when is he ever going to need to know about Kiriko tribal tattoos ever again?) pointing guns at thugs and beating the shit out of the tougher ones with his chains. It really makes him pause and think. What kind of Hunter does _he_ want to be, after he can put all of this behind him? Honestly, Kurapika is at a total loss. 

16\. Tell another story to the shelves full of eyes.  
17\. Music lessons at Senritsu’s.

“Are you ready to sight read the second movement?” 

“Sure, Promenade wasn’t that hard.” 

Senritsu turn the page. 

“I stand corrected. That train wreck of notes right at the beginning looks like murder.” 

“Just the first few bars then. Go slowly until you can get the hang of it, and you should be able to learn the rest.” 

Kurapika plinks his way through a few repetitions of the very beginning, a little faster each time. “Sounds like murder, too.” Then it clicks. “ _Oh._ ” Pure savagery. He _needs_ this song. “Senritsu, you’re right. I feel The Gnome on a molecular level.” 

“It can’t be murder, your heartbeat says you’re having fun.” 

“Haha, alright, I am. But can we play something together instead?” 

“Of course.” 

“I think I’d rather borrow this score and work through Pictures at an Exhibition on my own. Learning all fifteen movements is probably going to keep me busy for _years_.”

“What would you like to play?” 

“I’d like to keep working on the Moldau arranged for flute and piano, even though I’m still so slow at it. I just really like listening to you play the flute part.” 

“We have time, Kurapika.” 

18\. Relocate a spider. Pat self on the back.  
19\. Write. Sketch a few new clothing designs.  
20\. Laundry, sewing, and mending all the inevitable tears.  
21\. MMORPG night with the young Zoldycks.

Oh, how Kurapika resisted at first. Surely a game about learning magic and fighting monsters was going to be terribly blasé after doing it in real life? 

Except it isn’t. It’s…. relaxing. Gaming requires a level of focus that shuts down the infinite feedback loop of anxious chatter in his brain. The graphics are cute, death is never permanent, there isn’t any paperwork, and he doesn’t have to burn his own life force to kick some ass. The backstory is right up his alley in reading genre, and he always insists on doing all of the side quests. Plus, he adores his dumbass flail wielding meat sack of a character with the grizzled beard, the spiked shoulder armor, the giant leather belt around his waist, and the furry animal hide tunic. Next he’s going to wear a bleached deer skull as a hat. 

There’s just one teeny problem. 

_CousinPiko [Barbarian]: oh come ON._

_Chocorobo [Mage]: rip lol_

_CousinPiko [Barbarian]: I swear I didn’t pull aggro this time. That manticore spawned right in my face._

_MadFaceSadFace [Cleric]: should I rez him?_

_Chocorobo [Mage]: run for the hills allu, our tank is dead_

_CousinPiko [Barbarian]: Alas, I am undone._

_CousinPiko [Barbarian]: Go on without me._

_CousinPiko [Barbarian]: Save yourselves._

_MadFaceSadFace [Cleric]: too late i died :(_

_Chocorobo [Mage]: see this is why you have to hotkey a teleport scroll at all times_

_CousinPiko [Barbarian]: Leave me here, broken and alone._

_CousinPiko [Barbarian]: then heal my sad 1 hp when I respawn at the castle gate? thanks in advance_

_Chocorobo [Mage]: I was wondering when you would stop with the dramatic monologue_

_CousinPiko [Barbarian]: bored_

_CousinPiko [Barbarian]: whoever set my respawn timer to 5 minutes is a sadist_

He sucks at staying alive, to the surprise of absolutely no one.

22\. Fall asleep reading.  
23\. Don’t fall asleep with contacts in. They itch like hell.  
24\. Oh shit, this library book is overdue again.  
25\. Fall asleep cuddling.  
26\. Oh shit, he _likes_ when Leorio can’t keep his hands from wandering.  
The same touch that used to overwhelm his senses now turns Kurapika’s insides into hot molten greed.

“Hey Kurapika, you stay over so often, wouldn’t it be easier if we moved in together?” 

“I’m not ready yet. I can’t really start thinking about that sort of thing until I don’t have to bring all of my ghosts with me anymore.” 

“That’s fair.” 

“You don’t feel like I leave you cold and abandoned for weeks on end?” 

“No, I can tell you’re making an effort. Whenever you’re in town you try to make time for me almost every day, even though I know you’re even busier than I am.” 

“That’s because you’re addicting,” Kurapika murmurs fondly into Leorio’s neck. 

“Uh oh. Are you giving me your come hither eyes again?” 

“That depends. Are you giving me your wicked mischief eyes, with the little spark dancing in the corner?” 

“I always lose this game.” 

***

With summer classes and a course load that probably isn’t healthy (not like Kurapika has any room to judge), Leorio has managed to cram his medical degree into five years instead of six, with a double major in oncology and rare diseases (he couldn’t decide between them, so he picked both), refine his nen techniques, and train with his nen master on the side. 

In addition to his basic palpitation / diagnostic / ultrasound technique, he has been working on the fine control required to concentrate his Remote Punch into a smaller and smaller area. So far he has managed to focus down to the tens of microns, but the nanometer realm of viruses is still outside of his grasp. His ultimate technique creates a microscopic beam of Hatsu that targets individual pathogenic cells and destroy them with the precision of a laser, while using Zetsu against healthy cells, leaving them undamaged. The smaller the area, the more nen restrictions he has to place on it to keep it stable. 

Any spare time he isn’t spending with Kurapika is devoted to combing through the Hunter Association’s records for the precious few details available on nen users with healing abilities who have released the techniques and conditions required to use them. Now he has one week left to prepare to defend his final year thesis, and he’s nervous as hell. 

“Here. Wear this. It’s a good luck charm.” 

Kurapika hands him a necktie with a strong blue background color, patterned with circles that look like they could be made from brass. It isn’t any louder and weirder than the other fun ties Leorio likes to wear with his suits, except for the fact that the circles look suspiciously eyelike from a distance. Creepy? 

“Now I have to ask. What exactly does this pattern mean? Is it… supposed to look like eyes with blue pupils and brass irises?” 

“I haven’t worn this pattern since I was twelve, and I was trying to pass a test to be able to leave our village and explore the outside world.” At the time it was far too big for him, poofing out awkwardly at his waist and sleeves. He wasn’t supposed to take the test until he was sixteen, but he his stubbornness won out. “I suppose you could call it something like a rite of passage.” One of the first things he did after leaving the Kuruta village and carving out a place for himself in town was to burn that old outfit and sew a new one. (His first attempt at sewing by hand at the age of twelve came out horribly uneven and lumpy.) It took him a decade to cleanse that pattern from the association with the bad luck of having his best friend and his entire village torn away from him, and thank his lucky stars that he lived to find love and meaning again. 

“The symbol means ‘we’re watching out for you, we want to see you pass with flying colors’. If I had to condense it down to one word, I think I would say it represents ‘perseverance’. I’ll be wearing maroon and moons and suns all week, because-” Kurapika chokes up, a miniature sunset descending into his irises. With trembling hands, he recreated the exact outfit he last saw Pairo wearing, down to the last detail other than the larger size (Pairo was so tiny for his age), proudly shrugging it on over his own shoulders. “You’re my partner in crime, and I’m rooting for you, and my spirit is with you always, even when I can’t be there in person.” 

“Oh my god?” Oh no, he made Leorio cry. “I’ll wear it every day with the New Year’s shirt you made for me. I don’t even care if the colors clash, because I get to match with _you_.”

***

On his next Bounty Hunter mission, Kurapika shows up to work in slightly unconventional Kuruta garb- a traditional dark blue robe with gold accents over training wear sewed in golden yellow fabric with a cheerful pattern of black polka dots. It matches Leorio’s favorite tie. Good thing he has his contacts in, because he is trying very hard not to grin like an idiot. Nobody _dares_ to look at him funny. 

***

Crushing student debt? A stupidly long airship ride? No room for guests in his tiny studio apartment? Who cares! Just this once Leorio is going to pay for his family, his _entire_ family, to come and stay in York Shin and go sightseeing together for a week because he’s _graduating_ , damn it. He’s the first one in his family. Soon he will be able to pull his mother out of supplementing her home health aide income with side gigs cleaning rich people’s houses; and his father out of his back breaking twelve hour night shifts loading and unloading boxes at the warehouse where they treat him like a human robot and they keep ratcheting up the pressure to work faster and faster as his muscles and joints age; and his kid sister (Miri will _always_ be his kid sister) out of neglecting her education while she looks after three younger siblings alongside a handful of neighbors. 

“Quick round of introductions! Gon, Killua, Alluka, Senritsu, Mom, Dad, Miri, Theo, Namana, Rowen. Kurapika, don’t you dare hide behind me, I don’t care if your brain is on fire. Everyone got it? No? Well get going with the small talk. Dinner’s on me after the ceremony is over. I have to go get in line.” Yet he still takes the time to give each of them an individual hug (no matter how grudgingly Killua accepts this surprise attack). Kurapika is wearing maroon again. It gets him RIGHT through the heart. Leorio is absolutely _not_ going to fondle in front of his parents and all of his classmates. Not even with stealth. “Love you all, see you soon!” 

Leorio’s parents are so _young_. They must be barely in their forties, and Leorio turned twenty five a couple months ago. Kurapika is struck by the resemblance: The broad shoulders, athletic build and the angle of his chin are from his father; the long, elegant nose and kind brown eyes are from his mother. She is a slight woman, shorter than Kurapika and a little too thin, worn and beginning to grey with worry. One look at her and Kurapika knows she is the type to provide for her children before she cares to eat a bite herself. _A kindred spirit._ The type of person he never wants anything bad to happen to, ever. She turns to him with a broad smile, tears in her eyes, and her heart on her sleeve. When Kurapika offers a shy smile and a handshake, she pulls him directly into a big hug. 

There is a noticeable age gap between Leorio and Miri, the oldest of his younger siblings. She looks to be in her late teens, but with an air of maturity far beyond her age (like she stole it all from Leorio in this family- Kurapika doesn’t know whether to find this thought amusing or sad). Her bearing around her younger teenaged siblings reminds him of how Killua acts around Alluka, with a side of Aunt Mito. Theo is a loud, carefree echo of Leorio, and idolizes him. Namana is soft, open and friendly. Rowen, the youngest, is shy, serious, and ready to fight or run. Of course he is the first one Gon instantly wins over; it’s like the kid is a heat seeking missile for people with insecurity and trust issues. 

Between Gon and Alluka’s friendly overtures, everyone else can’t help but fall in line, Kurapika included. The evening goes so smoothly it didn’t even feel like they had to sit through two hours of boring speeches and all of the other names none of them recognize. Yes, even with Leorio’s mom grilling Kurapika for details about how their relationship is coming along and Senritsu poorly concealing her amusement at his predicament. 

***

One week showing his family all the touristy landmarks in York Shin (and dragging Kurapika and Senritsu along for the ride) and one week of ‘vacation’ (aka catching up on sleep) later, the shit really hits the fan. As soon as Leorio starts his internship at York Shin General Hospital, he finds himself pulling 80 hour weeks far more often than the 40 hours other people consider normal. It’s probably a bad thing that Leorio can one up all of Kurapika’s schedule complaints every time the stars align and they can actually see each other. Half the time all they do together is collapse into exhaustion on the bed and just sleep. 

1\. Brush teeth. Shave.  
2\. Put on scrubs. Put on white coat. Point finger guns and wink in the mirror. Fuck yeah, he’s an intern!  
3\. Grab breakfast at the café in the hospital lobby, or if he’s really in a hurry, pour a scalding cup of sludge from the coffee pot in the  
break room and buy something with questionable nutritional value from the vending machine.  
4\. Work. Work. Work. Sometimes during the day. Sometimes all night. Sometimes on call. (Mostly at night, let’s get real. He has none of the  
seniority needed to ask for specific shifts, or even a consistent schedule.) A typical day results in some combination of the following:  
a. Make the rounds in whichever ward he is assigned to this month.  
b. Assist a senior physician in the operating theatre.  
c. Save lives in the ever-evolving chaos of the ER.  
d. Goof off around the kids in the Pediatric ward. He has a stash of candy for the kids who are allowed to eat it and little presents for the  
ones who aren’t.  
e. Fill in for one of the only triage nurses who knows how to use Gyo when someone is off sick or on vacation. Hoo boy, those days get  
_interesting._  
f. Examine patients in the Nen ward. Sometimes it’s a miracle they’re still breathing.  
g. Flirt with the lonely old ladies in the long term care wing.  
h. Break some poor family’s heart after he interprets the biopsy results. His palpitation skill isn’t good enough to save people with yet, and  
it crushes him every time.  
i. Lose a patient. He isn’t sure whether he likes the fact that it gets easier not to cry his eyes out each subsequent time the inevitable  
happens.  
5\. Bitch at his colleagues about his gripe of the day. 

The problems are endless: The nurses and personal support staff are chronically underpaid and understaffed. A child’s insurance was rejected (those greedy bloodsuckers). That round of chemotherapy cost HOW much!? The buildings are all named after rich mafia donors, as if it will absolve them of their sins. A kindly grandmother died alone, and none of her family or friends came to visit. Management is so desperate to kick people out of their beds and bring in fresh bodies that a stroke patient was sent home too soon with inadequate rehabilitation and home care support. Fuck this shit. When he has his own practice, he’s going to HIRE people and PAY them properly and take top quality care of all his patients. 

6\. Fall asleep crying on Kurapika’s shoulder after a day overwhelmed with death and sickness and grim prognoses.  
Kurapika runs his fingers through Leorio’s hair, holds on to him tightly, and doesn’t need to say anything at all.  
7\. Look for well-paying Hunter side gigs.  
8\. Read the latest research papers and medical journals.  
9\. Call mom.  
10\. Call Gon.  
11\. Lose at poker against Killua. Again.  
12\. Train with his nen instructor, and work on his techniques.  
13\. Eat instant ramen, because he really ought to stop buying every meal at the lobby level café when he has so much debt to pay back.  
Who has time to cook? Then maybe eat an apple or veggie sticks or something, because he can’t let the team down.  
14\. Flirt with Kurapika until his eyes turn red. It’s hilarious.  
15\. Giving him a solid kiss on the neck, however, is dead serious.  
16\. Hang out with Senritsu.

Other than playing music, her favorite pastime is people watching and making up stories about them based on the sound of their passing heartbeats and footsteps. They like to sit together at the patio of a restaurant or go for a walk in the park. Senritsu is always so low key and relaxing to be around. 

17\. That, and Senritsu peps up his work exhaustion with her flute more than he cares to admit.

Following the advice of his therapist to do some more volunteering, Kurapika combines it with a way to see Leorio more often by putting in some time at the hospital for a few hours a week. On a slow day manning the information desk, sitting between two gossipy old ladies who want to adopt him, Kurapika patiently shepherds visitors toward the family and friends they came to see. Before long he ends up with a knitted sweater and more cookies than he can possibly eat by himself. They spend their breaks together, and eat in the café. 

Leorio always gets a rush of affection every time they run into each other unexpectedly. Catching a glimpse of Kurapika reading to the children in the Pediatric ward is almost as heartwarming as seeing off a child who is in remission and finally gets to go home. When Kurapika is having a bad day, all of the therapy dogs flock to him, sticking their wet noses into his lap and looking up at him with imploring eyes. 

*** 

“Kurapika, it’s _awful_.”

“What’s wrong, Senritsu?” 

“I’ve located a body parts collector who _bought_ my best friend’s body after he died playing the Sonata of Darkness. I have to get him back.” 

Both of Kurapika’s hands tighten into fists, chain rings appearing on the fingers of his right hand and a fingerless chainmail glove materializing on his left. “Count me in. Tell me anything you need, and I’ll do it.” 

“I have made arrangements to provide the musical entertainment for a private dinner party. The goal is to scope out the mansion, find the body and remove it before anyone notices. My ability to keep the audience entranced only lasts for three minutes, and I can’t be in two places at once. Will you be my backup?” 

“Of course. Fill me in on all the details and I will have my network gather intelligence on the venue and all the parties in attendance. When is it?” 

“We have one month to prepare. Will you accompany me on the piano?” 

“You think I’m good enough to play in front of a live audience without blowing our cover?” 

“I know you can. You have a solid foundation in chord progressions. Let’s sight read through the type of music score I had in mind and you can see for yourself.” 

Kurapika can kill a man without batting an eye. He isn’t about to let a little stage fright get in his way. “Alright. I trust you.” He trusts her to the ends of the earth and beyond. 

***

“We’ve come to ask you for a favor.” 

“Fire away.” For Kurapika and Senritsu? Whatever it is, Leorio couldn’t say no if he tried. 

“Leorio, how much of your body can you teleport with your Remote Punch?”

“I’ve only ever tried a whole arm or a whole leg. I’ve been focusing on making it smaller.” 

“Does the exit of your portal have to be within your line of sight?” 

“No, I can aim wherever I want within a few meters with palpitations, like sonar mapping.” 

“And have you ever tried pulling anyone or anything else through your portal?” 

“Yes, with surgical instruments. Where are you going with all this?” 

“I’m posing as a band member at a private dinner party to help Senritsu recover her friend’s body from a collector. It takes place one month from now. We may need to make a quick getaway.” 

“Oh. Shit.” Leorio has his work cut out for him. There’s absolutely no way he can get time off for something like this with no seniority and short notice. Still, one month should be enough time for Leorio to widen Remote Punch into a big enough portal to push an entire person through. “Guess I’m driving, huh?” 

“It’s going to be Kurapika’s first ever live performance!” Senritsu adds, instantly breaking up the heavy atmosphere. “I’m sure he’ll appreciate it if you come and watch.” 

“Heh. I’ll have to wear my New Year’s shirt again.” 

Leorio thinks Kurapika’s blush is very pretty. Senritsu can hear the butterflies. 

***

Every mob boss worth their salt listens to jazz. Which is how Kurapika winds up playing Mack the Knife and feeling more than a little called out. Hidden weapons! Making people disappear! Dumping bodies! Truly a song that has it all. 

This mission is the top priority on his schedule; all his personal business is on hold until he can pay back this small part of the debt he owes to Senritsu for saving his life at least twice over and never once asking him for anything in return. Kurapika sits all the way off to the side, where he can keep an eye on all of their surroundings. Senritsu is in charge, wielding an alto saxophone. (Kurapika’s cue to slip away unnoticed will be the moment she switches to flute to play a short solo near the end of The Pink Panther Theme.) It feels strangely formal joining the band Senritsu hired for rehearsals, with both of them already wearing disguises. Judging by the dull glow of their auras, none of the other band members are nen users. Doesn’t she want to play in a band with any other Music Hunters? Kurapika frowns. Probably a touchy subject. He can smell bad blood from a mile away. 

Senritsu is right, the syncopation is intuitive and the chords are dead easy- right up until the moment she puts him on the spot to improvise a solo. She makes him keep trying until he irons out all of the jitters – because every jazz musician worth their salt can play a solo. She’s right about that too; if he can pull off a solo in front of the band without breaking a sweat, his aura isn’t going to give away any suspicions when the performance is live. [You can do this, Kurapika.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rqpriUFsMQQ)

He can understand why Senritsu chose to imbue her music with nen. The more intuitive each of the chords become, the harder it becomes to keep fragments of his aura out of them. This could become a problem. Maybe he needs to tamp it down with some level of Zetsu while he’s trying to play, or else someone might recognize his aura behind the curly brown wig and the glasses. 

Then Senritsu plays a question at him with a fragment of her own aura. 

_Wait, was that-?_

_Encouragement._

_Clever!_ It’s like speaking in a secret code, and it goes completely over the heads of the rest of the band. 

_Praise._

_Flattered._

Kurapika is known for his chains, not his piano playing. He’s willing to gamble on nobody becoming suspicious enough to use Gyo. 

***

Leorio’s excuse for hanging around backstage with the empty instrument cases, slouching against the wall near the loading door: I’m with the band. Yeah. He may not have a clue about how to set up a drum set, but he is an expert at A) looking like he knows what he’s doing, and B) loading and unloading things from the back of the truck (with plenty of room for an extra ‘passenger’ on the way back). 

Kurapika stretches, flexes his fingers, and finally lets Leorio listen to his secretive warmup scales that he insisted Leorio was going to find boring, while Senritsu tunes her saxophone and her flute in succession. Leorio pretends to be disinterested, like he’s seen this a thousand times before. He has to hide an oncoming smile by pulling out his cell phone and pretending to reply to a text message. He smiles even wider as two separate invisible bubbles of emitter type nen reach his ears at the same time. 

_So far, so good._

Kurapika’s is much fainter even though he’s sitting closer; his brown-eyed state of calm control is unmistakable. 

Leorio taps a little _roger_ in Morse code on the screen of his phone, where only Senritsu can hear it, before shoving it back into the pocket of his black leather jacket. The rest of his disguise includes slightly scuffed up jeans and a bandana over his hair. He hasn’t shaved in a couple days, and he looks extra scruffy. 

After everyone sets up their music stands, assembles their instruments, and finishes warming up, all of the half random, half harmonious sounds gradually die down. So does the audience at their dinner tables. Senritsu picks up her saxophone. All of the band’s eyes are fixed on her, waiting for the signal. She lifts up her chin. The wind players inhale. She nods, and the band bursts into action. 

Damn, this is something altogether different from tinny airwaves coming out of a car radio. Come to think of it Leorio never had the time nor the money to attend a live music performance anywhere. He finds himself getting swept along, tapping his foot to the rhythm. _So does Kurapika._ His favorite Renaissance man, the same one who was too damned shy and self-conscious to play one measly song for him in the safety of his own apartment, takes on piano solos in _two_ separate songs, the showoff. The audience claps for him just as they do for the other solos; Leorio joins in. Although Kurapika’s back is turned, Leorio swears he can hear his cheeks going pink. 

Too bad this isn’t the real reason they came here. Leorio drums his fingers on the wall beside him, stretching out minute, clairvoyant pulses of his palpitation skill as far as he can reach, hidden with In. He scouts the nearest rooms and corridors for clues and signs of trouble. The good news: no guards, no guns. The bad news: no suspicious casket shape either. _Not here_ , he bubbles back at Kurapika and Senritsu. It isn’t exactly reassuring knowing Kurapika is going to have to sneak well out of the range where Leorio will have any idea what’s going on with him until he gets another signal. _Be careful._

For a moment, Senritsu looks so sad casting a significant look in Kurapika’s direction as she picks up her flute, then she schools the expression away from her face. The effect on Kurapika is immediate; he sits up straighter, shoulders stiffening. For all of his disguises Kurapika is a terrible actor, projecting his emotions all over the damned place like a human exclamation point. It would be funny if it the stakes weren’t so high. One of these days Leorio ought to teach him to play poker, if it isn’t already too late. Leorio turns away from the stage, thrusts his hands in his pockets, and walks around back beside the cargo van. The Pink Panther ends with a blast of trumpets. Chairs scrape the other band members filter away from the stage. Any second now. He pretends to place a phone call- “Hello? Speak up, I can barely hear you!” – and plugs his ears with his fingers. 

*

 _The vault or the gallery? It has to be the vault._ Kurapika calls up the thoroughly memorized floor plan in his mind’s eye as his legs propel him forward on autopilot. Judging by the understated opulence of the auditorium and the lack of disgusting human trophies on display, the owner of this establishment must be more subtle about flaunting his sick taste in collectibles. Kurapika dashes swiftly out of range, around a corner, through several doorways and up three flights of stairs, systematically smashing all the security cameras with his Dowsing Chain and discarding his disguise along the way. That would arouse the suspicion of anyone monitoring the closed circuit screens immediately, if he weren’t also assured that Senritsu’s ability will carry through the microphones to the security room as well, keeping its occupants entranced. When the song ends, the bigger the blind spot, the more time it should buy him before his location is discovered. 

Unless he is unlucky. 

Something roots Kurapika’s feet in place on the ground in mid-step; his forward momentum carries him crashing onto his face. _How?_ He couldn’t sense any living presence with En. _He can’t move._ His shadow boils up into a black, tarry entity with a thousand tiny grasping hands, plastering its writhing mass to his skin through every gap in his clothing, crawling into his eyes and nose and mouth. It _eats_ his aura. 

The Manipulator guard, tall and wraithlike, wearing all black, with spidery fingers, sunken eyes and long, straight hair that cascades almost all the way to the floor, pins Kurapika’s shadow in place under the spiked heel of her left boot. She stomps down and kicks with the right, trying to puncture his skin. If he lets the shadows infiltrate and poison his blood it will shut down all of his organs in seconds. The only reason Kurapika manages to summon up Chain Mail to shield his body is because his raw power is slightly stronger. The chain links keep threatening to disintegrate as the shadow entity leaches them away. Maintaining his armor has all the futile, exhausting desperation of bailing out a sinking ship. Attacking is impossible. 

The more power he feeds to his chain links, the farther the shadows gumming his mouth shut ooze their way down his throat. Kurapika coughs and chokes and tries to scream. He _can’t_ die here. He can’t let Senritsu down. He can’t break Leorio’s heart after he’s thrown body and soul into never losing another friend again. He can’t let his family down, nearly united and suffering in silence in the darkness of his second bedroom. And yet- there’s something curiously soothing about watching his short life flashing behind his darkened vision, realizing that the worst is already behind him and the best is yet to come. _You’re just doing your job,_ reasons the calm, detached voice of The New Kurapika, clinging to forgiveness and regret in equal measure. _I probably have to kill you. I’m sorry._ Emperor Time flares to life. His burst of Ren burns the clinging shadows away from underneath his body; it hurts like ripping off his own skin. In one swift movement, Kurapika yanks the Manipulator’s feet out from underneath her with his Dowsing chain, winds it around her entire body and whips her savagely against the floor tiles until her body goes limp. 

Kurapika staggers to his knees, retching soundlessly until one ragged gasp finally manages to scrape through. He wastes almost all of the rest of the time Senritsu is borrowing for him in a horrible fit of wet coughs, black sludge dribbling down his lips. As long as his aura is still active the remaining sludge keeps feeding off of it and growing back, but he can’t deactivate Emperor Time now; it will send him into Zetsu and he won’t even have the strength to defend himself against some grunt with a pistol, let alone carry the remains of Senritsu’s friend without access to his nen. _Hurry._ Kurapika drags himself down the hall with his Grappling Chain, too weak and slow to limp down the hallway on his feet. He doesn’t stop to check whether his assailant is dead or unconscious. 

At the thick metal door to the vault, Kurapika balls his aura into his right fist to punch it right off of its hinges. He has to pause to vomit up another gob of sludge before he can take inventory. His eyes are irritated and his vision is blurred. Gyo in his eyes burns the sludge out from behind his black contacts, offering some small relief. That’s when he notices that every object in this room glows with a malevolent black-red aura: a conductor’s baton; a tiny, crude tambourine carved from the fused human skulls of an infant pair of conjoined twins (he has a sick suspicion as to what kind of leather is stretched across the gaping hole where the brain should be); a violin in its case; the glass casket in the center of the room; _a musical score_. Kurapika extends his Chain Mail Net across the entire vault. He takes everything. 

*

Senritsu takes a bow to thunderous applause. The rest of the band members rejoin her to take their own bows, encouraged to play one final encore before they pack up their instruments and their music stands. _Kurapika hasn’t made it back yet._

*

Bouncing on the balls of his feet with nervous energy, Leorio helps the band members reload the instruments onto the truck in a big hurry. Just as he manages to wave them all away, something crashes through the windowpane three stories above Leorio’s head; it’s the ball-shaped end of Kurapika’s Dowsing Chain. More chain links follow in its wake, sluggishly twisting themselves into the word _Help_. Oh Jesus. Right where any passerby on the street could see it - he has to be desperate. The chain vanishes. 

Leorio leaps into the back of the trailer with Senritsu hot on his heels. He practically slams the door shut after her. Opening up a portal inside with the other end terminating just underneath the shattered windowpane, he scrambles to pull through everything he can reach. It starts with a pair of clammy, sticky hands and doesn’t end with an alarming heap of tar-splattered Kurapika, because this half-drowned asshole is too stubborn to let him close the portal even though he can’t even fucking sit up on his own. All hands on deck. Kurapika won’t rest until he can identify every object he was dragging with him in his net. Then he crumples. He sounds like he’s hacking every molecule of air out of his lungs, his labored breathing gurgling on every inhale. 

“Kurapika, I’m _so sorry_.” Senritsu wrings her hands, guilty and anxious. “If I knew it was going to be this dangerous-”

He actually tries to _smile_ at her. Sure he’s in acute respiratory distress, but he’s safe now! Zetsu is an immense relief; the sludge has stopped spreading. The massive dose of adrenaline is wearing off, and he can’t decide whether he wants to giggle or sink under into fatigue. His lungs will allow him to do neither. 

Leorio scowls down at Kurapika, biting back a very unprofessional retort. “We’re going to the ER whether you like it or not.” Kurapika doesn’t resist. “Senritsu, you drive.” Leorio jerks a thumb in the direction of the cab. “I’ll take care of him.” 

She strides into action, glad to have a task to focus on. 

From then on Leorio shuts out all distractions. He knew the little battery powered pulse oximeter in his first aid kit was going to come in handy. 

“Are you choking?” 

Kurapika shakes his head. It isn’t exactly his throat that’s the problem. 

“Can you talk?” 

Another head shake. 

“You’re not getting enough oxygen. Are you going to fight me if I do rescue breathing?” 

Kurapika looks alarmed, holding up both hands in a ‘stop’ gesture. He points up at his eyes. 

“What, are they red?” 

No. 

“Something got in your eye?” 

Kurapika furrows his eyebrows, frustrated, and points at Leorio’s eyes instead. 

Right, he should have thought to use Gyo in the first place. Oh. _Oh_. “Holy shit, Kurapika.” That is some truly foul, persistent nen. A million tiny black hands wave back at him, harassing Kurapika’s defenseless alveoli. He can’t even chew Kurapika out for not calling for backup. “What happens if I use palpitations to try to loosen it up?” 

He shakes his head emphatically. 

“We don’t have a nen exorcist on staff, so the best we can do is to put you under while we drain your lungs and pump your stomach. I’m going to recommend keeping you under observation for twenty four hours afterward. If it works, you’ll feel sore but you’ll be fine. If it doesn’t, we’ll get you help from elsewhere. Let me know if it gets any worse. Then make sure you rest up before you run off to get your ass handed to you again, won’t you? For me?” 

Looking up tenderly at Leorio for the remainder of the truck ride, Kurapika grabs him by the hand until he has to submit to the indignity of being carried away on a stretcher. 

***

It hurts to breathe. Kurapika gives up on trying to go back to sleep among all the beeping machines and the comings and goings of nurses. York Shin General Hospital is not a restful place. Propping himself up in bed, Kurapika turns his focus on slowly, gingerly inhaling and exhaling, trying to minimize the searing burn. At least his airway feels clear. Focusing Gyo in his eyes, he looks down at himself to check for any lingering traces of malevolent nen. After seeing none, he experimentally lifts his healing chain to his chest until breathing feels a little bit less like scraping his lungs with sandpaper. The effort wears him out. This is rather pathetic. Kurapika, who can take a shattered arm without complaining, is actually considering asking for pain medication. He sinks back into his pillows, blinking groggy, irritated eyes. Shit, he left his contacts in again. He doesn’t want to poke at his eyes with whatever disgusting residue is left on his hands, along with any suspicious drug resistant hospital bacteria he may have touched. He also doesn’t want to get up and trudge all the way to the bathroom. Too much effort. 

“How are you feeling?” Asks L. Paladiknight, MD (Intern), radiating confidence and pride in his white lab coat, nitrile gloves and pale blue scrubs. His hair is a little disheveled; his chin is still a bit scruffier than usual. 

Unfair. When the full force of the genuine concern in Leorio’s kind smile hits him, Kurapika feels his heart flip upside down. He is far too vulnerable to defend against this charm offensive. Kurapika’s mouth opens and closes soundlessly a few times before he finally manages to whisper. “How are you this gorgeous at 3:26 AM?” 

“It’s the coffee,” Leorio whispers back conspiratorially. 

“Weren’t you on day shift this week?” 

“Too wound up. I figured I might as well swap a shift and keep myself busy if I was going to end up checking on you every couple of hours anyway. But enough about me, let’s talk about you. Still hard to talk, I take it?” 

“Sore throat,” Kurapika admits very quietly. It bothered him less than the pain in his chest, so he ran out of energy before he could even begin to heal it. 

“I’m going to listen to your breathing.” 

This is so unsexy. Kurapika wads his blankets around his waist, feeling exposed and horribly underdressed. He isn’t sure what’s worse, the paper thin hospital gown with gaps in embarrassing places or the filthy, tar-stained remains of the black slacks and dress shirt he was wearing at the piano. 

“Can you cough once for me?” 

Kurapika obeys, his mouth immediately twisting into a grimace. _Ow._ It’s like clawing at his chest with a bag of rusty nails. 

“Much better, the wet cough is gone.” Leorio steps back and tucks his stethoscope away. “How is your stomach?” 

Not great, but not terrible. It’s an ungodly hour in the morning and his stomach is supposed to be asleep right now. Kurapika shrugs; his voice has failed him again. 

“Any nausea?” 

No. 

“Any pain?” 

No. 

“Do you feel up to eating or drinking something?” 

Kurapika spends too long thinking about this yes or no question. Food? Out of the question this early/late. Tea? Pro: soothing for his throat. Con: he’s going to have to pee. Maybe by then he will have the strength to fight his way to the bathroom. Then again, if he asks for pain medications he’ll need to take them with water anyway. Eventually he pantomimes pouring a teapot into a mug and taking a sip. 

“You’re cute when you’re not freaking me out,” Leorio tells him in a voice too low to carry to the other occupants of the room. “I almost yelled at you in the truck.” 

Kurapika stares right back at him with an unapologetic, stubborn set to his chin and his arms folded across his chest. For Senritsu, he would do it all again without hesitation. 

With an indignant huff and a smile, Leorio straightens back up to his full height and shakes his head. “I have to go. I’ll send along a nurse to help make you comfortable, alright?” 

***

Senritsu brought him a bouquet of flowers and a get well card. For a one day stay in the hospital? Honestly, this is over the top. But then Kurapika thinks back to Pairo and his broken leg, how he never stopped visiting every day until he started to recover, and how in the end it was all for nothing. For someone he cares about so deeply again, and- it shocks him every time it occurs to him- for Senritsu to care about him just as much, the flowers are both a tiny, insignificant gesture of affection and an enormous understatement. He doesn’t have his contacts in, so he shields his emotions from prying eyes behind the delicate fragrance of the blooms. 

Beside her, stretching his long legs out in a plastic armchair that’s too small for him, Leorio is munching away at a sandwich from the cafeteria in the lobby. He’s been spending all of his breaks here. Is he pulling a double shift? Not like Kurapika really has any room to get on his case about it. 

“I’m glad to see you again,” Kurapika tells Senritsu softly in a voice that still hasn’t fully recovered. 

“I’m so glad you’re feeling better,” Senritsu responds with unrestrained relief. “What happened after you left the stage?” 

Leorio wants to hear this. He leans forward, his lunch momentarily forgotten. 

“I was ambushed by a strong Manipulator with an unknown ability- probably something to do with shadows- that allowed her to evade my En. By stepping on my shadow, she turned it into a revolting nen-leaching glue trap that tried to ooze into… everywhere… and suffocate me. The shadows were weak to light and to concentrated Ren. I managed to burn it off my skin and out of my eyes, but I couldn’t destroy the part that made it into my mouth and nose, even after I knocked her unconscious. I… may have killed her. I’m not sure. Leorio, I’m almost certain it would have spread to you too if you had tried to resuscitate me.” 

“I say good riddance. That’s disgusting.” 

“It is.” Kurapika shudders. Violated by a thousand tiny sticky hands worming their way up his abdomen and down his waistband- he doesn’t want to think about it. “I need about ten showers.” 

“Oh Kurapika. I never meant to ask you to take such a risk on my behalf.” 

“Have you had a chance to lay your friend to rest? 

“We haven’t set a date yet, but it’s going to happen sometime in the next few weeks. I’ve been arranging it with his family in his hometown.”

“The instruments… the musical score… were they all genuine?” 

“I’m almost certain they are, although I have not destroyed them yet.” 

“Then it was worth it.” 

“It wouldn’t have been, for me. Not if you died because of this cursed sonata too.” 

“I have no intention of dying so easily, and you’re the very first reason why. Last night before everything went wrong, I was happy. Did you know that there’s even more happiness I haven’t even discovered yet? That after you hit rock bottom there’s nowhere left to go but up?” 

She smiles. “Yes.” 

“If it weren’t for your encouragement, I never would have believed it.” 

“Your piano solos kicked so much ass,” Leorio interjects. 

Kurapika’s flattered expression is even better than Leorio was picturing with his back turned. “Leorio, when do I get to go home?” 

“Twenty four hours ends at 1am. Pretty late, but I’m sure you’d rather sleep in your own bed. I can drive you.” 

Now Kurapika has to protest. “ _I’ll_ drive. Don’t think I haven’t noticed you working yourself to exhaustion.” 

“ _I’ll_ drive,” Senritsu insists, putting the matter to rest with such an air of finality Kurapika doesn’t dare to ask her if she minds that it’s so late. 

“In that case, would you mind bringing me a change of clothes from my apartment? I can’t be seen in public like this.” 

She laughs a silvery laugh and pats him on the arm. 

***

 _Stay back._ Senritsu motions to the top of the cliff with her hands. _I’m going to burn it._

Kurapika doesn’t need to be told twice. Simply being here at the deserted canyon out past the edge of town again sets his nerves on edge. Its remote, unpopulated location makes it a convenient location to conduct exactly this sort of unsavory business out of sight from prying eyes. He shifts his weight from one foot to the other. His eyes drop down the cliff toward the site of Ubogin’s grave. Picking up on his discomfort, Leorio reaches for his hand. Kurapika shakes his head and pulls away. It would be disrespectful, flaunting their relationship in front of someone from whom he has taken away the same opportunity. The blood on his hands makes him feel sullied and unlovable. 

At the base of the canyon all of the cursed musical instruments and paraphernalia are laid out on a wooden pyre. Senritsu has not dared to touch any of them with her bare hands, instead handling them disdainfully with two layers of long sleeves and a thick pair of gloves. To protect her ears she is wearing industrial grade earmuffs over a pair of foam earplugs; she insisted that Leorio and Kurapika do the same. No sense taking any chances. 

The last item missing is the Sonata of Darkness. She takes one more glance at the musical score to verify its authenticity. Laying eyes on the original is even worse than the transcribed copy that already cost one precious life. Even without having seen it before all of it resonates with her intuition: the fine handwritten strokes of a fountain pen, the rust red ink that she knows is made of blood, and the artistic sketch of a human skull nestled among the blossoms and thorns of roses decorating the upper right hand corner of the first page. She knows better than to even imagine how the notes will sound in her head, lest they finish the job of twisting the rest of her body into an unrecognizable horror. 

Never again. 

Senritsu tucks the entire booklet in among the logs at the very centre of the pyre, where the fire will burn at its fiercest. She strikes a match. She lights the kindling. She flees upward to the top of the canyon as fast as her legs will carry her, tucking herself into the gap between Leorio and Kurapika for support. Kurapika’s eyes widen a fraction as she twines one arm around his elbow, but he doesn’t stop her. He can feel her shaking. 

First the twigs catch fire, then the branches, then- slowly and gradually over the course of several minutes- the smaller logs. Senritsu cannot tear her eyes away as the bonfire roars higher and higher. Suddenly all noise ceases- she is deaf to the thundering pulse in her own ears. The bonfire burns from red to black, spreading upward into a pillar that absorbs all sound and blots out the starlight. Instinct propels Kurapika to yank her down to the ground; she in turn pulls Leorio with her. They brace themselves in a barrier of Ten. 

The explosion is blinding; a total absence of light. 

Is she dead? The deafness is the worst part- no breathing, no heartbeats, no signs of life. In front of her eyes the darkness is so complete that even waving her hands in front of her face is futile. Senritsu drifts in the silence for several minutes; it’s like being miles underground in a cave. Then her surroundings begin to trickle back in at a snail’s pace. Her blood rushes back into her ears. One brown pebble reappears in front of her nose. To her right, a Leorio-shaped parting in the mist props himself up on his elbows. To her left, Kurapika focuses Gyo into his eyes, then cautiously allows the white glow of his aura to dissipate. 

Below them, the canyon is utterly empty. Nothing remains of the pyre- no half burned logs, no charcoal, no ashes. Senritsu lets out a breath she didn’t realize she was holding. After removing the earmuffs and the earplugs, Leorio and Kurapika’s heartbeats come rushing back to her. Does this mean nothing about her has changed? Removing her gloves, she touches her wrist just beneath her long sleeves, and still feels hard roughness like the bark of a scarred tree. Still bare skin where she once had eyebrows. Still a large bald patch that she makes an effort to paper over with her cheerful hats. Still a round, gnarled body that she hides in shapeless dresses, ashamed. She had hoped so fervently for _something_ \- but that doesn’t matter, her own selfish ideas about her appearance are insignificant now that the threat is destroyed. She should be happy. Why isn’t she happy? 

Kurapika wraps his arms around her. His heartbeat is so soft and beautiful and sad that Senritsu can’t hold back her tears. He stands there quietly without judgement, his heartbeat taking on a fierce, protective quality as he patiently waits for her sobbing to run dry. “Hey. I’m here to listen, if talking about it will make you feel better.” 

Senritsu tugs him aside; they sit side by side in the back seat of the car. Kurapika shoots Leorio an apologetic look for neglecting him; Leorio smiles back with understanding and keeps out of the way. 

Silence stretches on for several minutes. For once Senritsu is struggling to find all the right words to untangle all of the raw feelings in her heart. “I should be happy,” She repeats aloud, without feeling. “I shouldn’t be so selfish about my own appearance, when I know I’ve done the right thing.” 

“You’re grieving.” To Kurapika, vividly brought back to the sight of flames and smoke and his village burning to ashes, it’s as obvious as the light of the crescent moon. He remembers that empty September, years later, years ago. Ubogin is dead. Pakunoda is dead. His heart was so hollow when he thought the other Spiders had died too. Grief never truly goes away, it can only become more manageable, most of the time. 

“I’m so angry at the so called ‘friend’ who sold him the copy on the condition that he never plays it out loud, as if it had any right to exist. And the rest of the Music Hunter community- rival collectors, colleagues, band mates, others we thought were our friends- who thought we deserved what happened to us for playing with fire. The worst ones were those who shunned me after what happened to my body, as if this curse is contagious. It made me feel uglier than looking in the mirror ever did. I haven’t spoken a word to any of them since.” 

“Senritsu, you are the most beautiful person I know.” He means it with his whole heart; Senritsu can hear it in every drumbeat of his pulse. A fresh flood of tears streaks down her cheeks. 

“Do you miss them?” 

“I… yes. In spite of everything.” She dries her face with a lace handkerchief. 

“Up on stage, that look you gave me was so lonely.” 

“It is lonely, hiring band members who are just ordinary musicians and can’t understand nen or appreciate the rare pieces my friend and I collected over the years. Yet that’s what most of us Music Hunters do regardless, because it’s difficult for us to get along with each other when we’re all egotistical to varying degrees, we distrust sharing our nen abilities with each other, and we’re essentially all after the same rare instruments and musical scores. As official licensed Hunters, there are only enough of us to put together a quartet. Unofficially, if you count all of the musically inclined nen users, we could assemble a symphony orchestra. Can you imagine that much nen packed into a single room? It’s probably better that we never try to combine our forces, because that much power could topple entire governments.” 

“Oh my god.” It would be like if the Ryodan all learned to play musical instruments. Kurapika is struck with the absurd image of Kuroro with a conductor’s baton, Ubogin pounding on huge kettle drums, Machi on violin, Shalnark playing a clarinet, and Feitan holding a bass that’s taller than he is. Hisoka would interrupt them all with a kazoo, just to get on their nerves. “I can see it.” He doesn’t divulge just what he can see. Funny how this particular unbidden image goes nowhere near his eyes; Kurapika can easily dismiss it as irrelevant. 

“I suppose what I miss the most is being able to share all of my discoveries, and listen to rare pieces played by others, even if I was jealous.” She lets out a soft, ironic laugh. “I never get invited to parties anymore.” 

“From your description it sounds like they must be too proud to extend the olive branch until you make the first move. As if I have any room to talk…”

“No, you’re right.” Watching the weight fall from Kurapika’s shoulders, chip by chip, piece by piece, has been a treasure to witness. “It’s time.” 

“I’m just an amateur, but I’d love to listen to you play anytime you like.” 

“Thank you Kurapika, you make me feel less lonely.” 

“Likewise. Would you like me to try to heal your scars with my Holy Chain?” 

It won’t work. She nods anyway. 

“I’m not very good at this when I haven’t met my conditions for Emperor Time, but I promise to do my best. Where would you like me to start?” 

Senritsu rolls up her right sleeve just a sliver. 

Kurapika’s Holy Chain coils around Senritsu’s wrist like a bracelet. He narrows his attention down to a slim ribbon of balmy sea green light, coaxing the corrugations of dry skin beneath it to grow smoother and softer. After a long, concentrated effort, Leorio begins to worry, awkwardly strolling in circles around the car and trying not to intrude. Beads of sweat trickle down Kurapika’s forehead. Finally he has to stop to catch his breath. The burn marks at Senritsu’s wrist seem to have retreated by a tiny but visible fraction. 

“I’m afraid my Holy Chain is a bit slow like this,” Kurapika explains. “The full effect takes several hours. You might see a bit more of an improvement overnight. Shall I keep going?” 

Senritsu crushes him into another hug. Kurapika smiles at Leorio, inviting him back inside to take the driver’s seat. 

Nobody talks on the way home. 

***

Kurapika’s next piano solo sounds even better with a little more experience under his belt, and without a single hint of fake identities or ulterior motives to spoil the mood. However, he isn’t here to entertain any fanciful notion of becoming a star. 

That title belongs to Senritsu, owning the stage in a brand new sleeveless dress that hugs all of her newfound curves. The bright red fabric accents her glossy red hair, piled into an elaborate twist of braids and topped with a much smaller hat, all frills and lace. 

Wait no, her dress isn’t red, that’s his vision. Who cares, that’s what contacts are for. When her flute solo ends, Kurapika is the first to leap out of his seat and clap. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those of you wondering why the title of this whole fic is York Shin General Hospital, the whole scene I had in my head to inspire this fic was Kurapika landing himself in the hospital because he's so depressed after killing all of the Ryodan and recovering all of the Scarlet Eyes that he throws his numb self into bodyguarding / Bounty Hunter missions afterward with complete disregard for his own safety. Then Intern Leorio freaks out over his crush getting his ass handed to him again, and Senritsu has to convince Kurapika to take a break from working and reconsidering his life choices. Cue therapy.
> 
> That's not how the plot turned out when I actually sat down and wrote it lol.
> 
> Other side note: In canon Leorio says becoming a doctor would take at least four years. According to Google, in Japan medical school takes 6 years. In the US it takes 8 years + internships and residency to become a doctor. I went with a sort of pseudo Japanese route for the purpose of my timeline.
> 
> Judging by canon Kurapika seems to be able to collect all of the Scarlet Eyes in... two years or so? Here I've made it take way longer. Kurapika is taking a lot more time to focus on his health, so I guess it makes sense. *waves hands*
> 
> ***
> 
> For your listening pleasure:
> 
> Here is Senritsu and Kurapika's jazz set list.  
> 1\. Louis Armstrong - Mack The Knife - https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=28ULUQgxJ5M  
> 2\. Dave Brubeck - Take Five - https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tT9Eh8wNMkw  
> 3\. Caravan - https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=r1ZRR0j6r7o  
> 3\. John Coltrane - All of My Favorite Things - https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rqpriUFsMQQ  
> 5\. The Pink Panther Theme - https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lp6z3s1Gig0
> 
> Normally I'm a snob who doesn't think flute belongs in jazz, but for The Pink Panther Theme, I'll make an exception.
> 
> ***
> 
> Also: Classical pieces I want Kurapika to be able to play on piano eventually but it would take way too long for him to actually learn them all within the timeline of this fic:
> 
> 1\. Smetana - Moldau - https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3G4NKzmfC-Q (I can find the original, a version for only flute and a version for only piano but not a version for only piano and flute. I'm sure it must exist somewhere if not on Youtube.)  
> 2\. Mussorgsky - Pictures at an Exhibition - https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rH_Rsl7fjok  
> 3\. Chopin - "Revolutionary" Etude in C Minor Op 10. No. 12 - https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=s2-t4RsT_l8
> 
> ***
> 
> Those of you who only watched the 2011 anime and never watched the 1999 anime are seriously missing out on the soundtrack. It's so much more varied and atmospheric than the 2011 version. Omfg the nostalgia. (I've been an HxH fan since 2004) GO AND LISTEN TO IT NOW. A few of my favorites that I still remember fondly two decades later are:
> 
> Ohayou (beginning theme): https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5P0_3N78Irw&list=PLBD5EA674B001DBE7&index=28  
> Gon's theme (way better than the 2011 Gon's theme - this is there vesion I was imagining Kurapika playing on the piano): https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DAsLZ-8eYSU&list=PLBD5EA674B001DBE7&index=2  
> WANNA STAY OR WANNA GO DO YOU DO YOU DO YOU FEEL LIKE I FEEL: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gfihrrP2ikU  
> The Sun Also Shines At Night (I will forever associate this ending theme with the York Shin Arc) - https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mPv0n0foBp4


	5. Souvenirs from the Dark Continent

_Pairo._ This sick fuck kept his best friend’s entire _head_ pickled in a jar. If Kurapika weren’t in the penthouse suite of this gruesomely decorated hotel on a tipoff that the owner and his most loyal guards and servants would be away on a dangerous journey for months, he would be one extremely short fuse away from beating the everloving shit out of the next person to blink in his general direction. He closes his eyes, takes a deep breath, and remembers to try the latest trick Doctor Barbadens taught him. Kurapika fishes around in his satchel for a red chili pepper, bites down and chews until the fire alarm going off in his mouth forcibly overpowers the rage. Ow fuck ow hot, whatever you do, do _not_ wipe the tears out of your eyes. It sure isn’t as pleasant as Senritsu’s flute, but damn is it effective. When Kurapika looks up again, face flushed and blinking rapidly, he can almost picture Pairo laughing at him. 

“I know. I never had my priorities straight. I swear I’ve been working on it. Come on Pairo, we’re going home.” 

Pairo, and six other unidentified pairs of Scarlet Eyes. Finally, _finally_ he’s found them all. Kurapika casts his chain mail net over the last of his family, floating them along after him in a loving embrace as he disappears off into the night without a trace. No more burglary. No more deceit. No more mafia, forever and ever, amen. Kurapika allows himself one long breath of relief before working himself up into a nervous frenzy. He will not, absolutely _cannot_ let them get stolen again from right under his nose, not when he’s this close. 

***

“I can’t believe it.” 

Leorio is ready to spike his cellphone into the ground and smash it into a million pieces. Instead, he settles for an anticlimactic beep of the hang up button. 

Kurapika is bent over his sewing machine, eyes glued to the smooth plane of fabric between his hands. “Who was it?” All this past month he’s been spending every spare minute making funeral shrouds. 

“The Hunter Association.” 

“Oh? Your shouting was louder than usual.” Kurapika remarks dryly over the low clanking hum of a long, straight border stitch. 

“Those entitled idiots think they can waltz right out of a Class A quarantine like they’ve just come home from a tropical beach vacation because basic human decency is for plebes, and now surprise FUCKING surprise, the entire country of Kakin is in a nuclear level lockdown shooting every reporter who dares to leak the news that everybody is dropping dead from some kind of horrible new contagious disease. It’s worse than the NGL out there. Nobody is allowed in unless they’re Hunters, and nobody is allowed out unless they’re locked away under negative pressure in a hazmat suit for ten days.” 

The sewing machine stops clacking. Kurapika’s hands go still. An icicle of fear lances through his heart. He looks up slowly, eyes already filling with red. “You’re going.” 

“Yeah. Even if it wasn’t the Hunter Association asking, I have to do something. They need me, Kurapika. There’s no cure, no treatment, no vaccine.” 

“I…” What does he _do_? The eyes are all here, all thirty six pairs. Only two more shrouds after this one is finished, and then he has to make his own funeral garments- both the robes and the elaborately decorated dress pants underneath, and he’ll be ready to pack everything, travel back to Lukso Province and finally close this painful chapter in his life. But Leorio- Kurapika won’t even be able to focus on observing the traditional funeral rites if he spends the entire trip agonizing over whether his love will ever make it back. It would mean so much for Leorio to come with him, support him through laying his family’s remains to rest, and see what his hometown looks like. Kurapika can’t stop Leorio from leaving. He has no right to block Leorio from achieving his own dreams. His voice quavers. “I’m coming with you.” 

“Are you stupid!? I thought six years of therapy was supposed to make you LESS suicidal! You think I want you to come throw your life away for NO REASON when all you’ve got is your half-assed Holy Chain and no medical knowledge or training? How am I supposed to focus on _my_ work when _you_ get sick, huh?” 

“YES, I’m stupid!” Springing to his feet so abruptly he knocks over his chair, Kurapika yanks Leorio down to his level by the lapels of his blazer so he can snarl in his face properly. “You think it’s EASY leaving my family behind like the past eleven years of struggle were a CAKEWALK? One day we’re ALL going to die, Leorio, and if I’ve earned the TINIEST BIT OF AGENCY after letting trauma ENSLAVE half of my childhood, I’d rather die with YOU than ALONE!” 

Kurapika is panting through all of Leorio’s air, and for one stunned moment Leorio is so torn between fury and tenderness he has nothing to say. He backs Kurapika up against the living room wall, tugging at two great fistfuls of blond hair as he forcefully reclaims his oxygen from Kurapika’s mouth. “You stubborn, bullheaded-” He would have kept raining down insults in the gaps between a series of kisses, but Kurapika isn’t going to let him finish that sentence. 

*

“Wow.” Leorio blinks dazedly at the ceiling. “We should fight more often.” 

“Mmm.” When he’s satisfied that he has imprinted enough kisses along Leorio’s collarbone, Kurapika slides off to the side and cages Leorio in his arms. Mine. No escaping. “Enjoy it now, because when we’re both in hazmat suits, intimacy will be a distant memory.” 

Leorio is the little spoon again, huh? “I bet you think you’ve won this argument, Cranky McDramaface.” 

“I win all of my arguments.” 

“You’re so full of shit your eyes are brown.” 

How crude. Kurapika snorts into his shoulder. 

“Do you have a plan?” 

“Cheadle is the one in charge.” 

“And you’ll be there to add value.” 

“Well, to be honest, if I can get approval, I think this is serious enough that I have to go from test tubes, lab rats and rabbits to trying my Disinfection Beam on human patients. It may be their only chance.” 

“You’re going to overexert your nen.” 

“I won’t.” 

“But you’ll be tempted.” 

“Not gonna lie, it’s hard to know where to draw the line and let one patient die right now because if I don’t, the lack of rest will fuck up my immune system and a hundred more are going to die without me while I’m off sick the next day. Or thousands more are going to die after a brilliant intern is forced to quit the profession entirely after surviving all the way through medical school, just because the hospital management is too cheap to hire enough people to support them.” 

It’s at that moment that Kurapika decides what he wants to do with the chain on his right index finger. “Then I’ll give you my nen.” 

“That’s generous of you to offer, but it also isn’t reassuring. I’ve seen what burnout looks like, Kurapika. I’ve seen what _you_ look like under a coma for two days. But I’ve also seen how hard you’ve been working to change that. Are you sure you’re ready? You’re not just following me because you have some romantic idea in your head that I can’t actually take care of myself, and you’re somehow going to be the last ditch effort to save me after all the precautions I will be taking fail?” 

“I panicked. If it came off as demeaning to your competence, then I sincerely apologize. I need to see that you’re safe, with my own eyes. As soon as it’s over, I need you to come back with me to Lukso province. I will never truly feel like I’ve reunited my family while half of my heart is on the other side of the world.” 

Leorio doesn’t relent, although the expression in his eyes softens. “Will you take shortcuts? Will I have to worry about you putting yourself in unnecessary danger? When you are tempted to push too hard, and to sacrifice your long term goals in favor of short term gain, will you be strong enough to resist?” 

“I don’t want to be reckless anymore, I care too much.” He didn’t squish the spider. This should be easy. And yet the idea scares him enough to use it as a nen restriction. “I promise.” Leorio deserves to be with someone who won’t rip out his heart and stomp on it again. Someone who can be trusted to make responsible decisions about their own health like a mature adult. Someone who can be a life preserver, not an anchor. Who would you rather reach for when you’re about to plunge into dangerous waters? (Not a ball and chain.) Kurapika needs to be that better person. This is a test he can’t afford to fail. 

“Okay. I trust you.” He smiles so tenderly Kurapika can’t look him in the eye. 

Wasn’t landing himself in the hospital when he was helping Senritsu reckless? Not being able to sense his attacker with En wasn’t his fault. Searching for his target alone was. He was overconfident. He should have had more backup from the beginning. He should have come up with a different plan. Next time-

Then Leorio interrupts his overthinking. “You know, this is the most serious conversation I’ve ever had without any clothes on.” 

Kurapika hides under his blanket, pink-faced, scandalized, and laughing uncontrollably. 

***

This feels weird. 

It’s weird when Leorio gives notice to his landlord on his bachelor’s apartment, figuring it doesn’t make sense to keep paying rent when he expects to be away on his contract with the Hunter Association for anywhere from six months to a year, after which he isn’t likely to come back to York Shin City at all because he needs to fulfill a rotation as a doctor in residence at three or four different hospitals in order to qualify as a fully licensed professional. It’s weird when Leorio’s one year internship with York Shin General Hospital ends. It’s weird in Leorio’s apartment helping him pack up boxes of textbooks, when really Kurapika should be at his own apartment meticulously wrapping up the remains of his clan in bubble wrap, packing peanuts and cardboard. It’s weird storing all of Leorio’s boxes in the bedroom Kurapika isn’t going to be using while he’s away – like Leorio really is moving in with him, except Kurapika is also leaving and it doesn’t make sense. 

Something about giving Senritsu’s borrowed keyboard back feels alarmingly final as Kurapika hands her a copy of his keys. He doesn’t want to burden her with house sitting – keeping an eye on his eyes, so to speak- under the guise of picking up the mail every couple of days, but honestly who else could he trust? Senritsu tells him that it will be no trouble at all. Surely in her heart she must be troubled. Because the worst part for Kurapika was sitting down with a lawyer and making Senritsu his executor in case both he and Leorio never make it back alive. He designates Leorio as his immediate next of kin, and adds contact information for all of his other closest friends to be notified in order. 

“Geeze, it feels like we’re getting married in the worst possible way.” 

Now there’s a subject that’s terrifying and exciting in equal measure. When it comes to Kurapika, the worst possible way is the only way. Not all of us are gifted with a penchant for romance. “Don’t you dare ambush me with a ring yet Leorio,” Kurapika mutters, reddening to the tips of his ears. “I haven’t even had time to get over the idea of living together.” 

“I like how you said ‘yet’, you skittish creature.” 

Senritsu says nothing. She is grinning from ear to ear. 

To think it never occurred to him to make a will back when all he had to his name were a grudge and a death wish. He didn’t believe anyone was going to care what his wishes were, and he was just going to end up in a glass jar without his consent regardless of how good his lawyer is. One perk of sullying himself associating with the mafia community is that Kurapika actually earned enough clout to make his word law. 

As the last surviving Kuruta Clan member, legally the village and the surrounding territory belongs to him now. Kurapika wants it converted to a nature preserve, so some asshole can’t pave over the graves of his family and add insult to injury by building a five star hotel. He wants the beloved forests of his childhood to stay exactly as they were, so future Hunters who take the trouble to travel to such a remote location can see how beautiful it is into perpetuity. The best person to leave the land to is Gon. He’ll know how to take care of it. 

If he dies, he wants all of his dirty money to undermine as many mafia causes as possible, and a healthy portion of his clean money to help out Leorio’s family in the unlikely event that Leorio doesn’t have enough time to clear his own debts. As for the rest, well, it was a really awkward conversation, but neither Senritsu, nor Killua, nor Gon want or need any money from him. They’re Hunters and they’re perfectly capable of taking care of themselves. Maybe Alluka and Gon’s aunt Mito then, since they aren’t Hunters and some extra funds in case of emergencies couldn’t hurt. 

Then there’s the matter of the books sitting unpublished on his laptop. Even under a pen name and after his family is safely returned where they belong, Kurapika can’t help feeling jittery about actually releasing them into the real world. The idea for one book has since morphed into three. In the years since he set out on this artistic endeavor, Kurapika has sewn so many different ideas for clothing patterns now that they deserved an illustrated book all to themselves, with an explanation of all the symbols as an index in the back. 

His second book is a collection of all the folk tales, fairy tales and short stories he could remember, as close as possible as to how Pairo would have embroidered them with his vivid imagination. The more he wrote, the more clearly he could picture all the characters in his head: their clothing, their mannerisms, their voices. Sometimes he would dream about them. Sometimes he had to drop everything else he was doing and just write before the words could escape from his memories. In the periphery of his vision, Kurapika is almost certain his nen was beginning to conjure tiny suggestions of a fairy tale in the making: the glimmer of a rainbird feather, the dazzling smile of a young scholar who had a big mouth and the brains to back it up when it got him into trouble, the scuffed slippers of a maiden who refused to listen to the village elders and snuck out dancing every night until the soles had a hole in the toe. 

As for his third book- well, that one is probably the most embarrassing. It’s a collection of all the folk songs he can remember. Kurapika knows what they’re supposed to _sound_ like, but he’s convinced that he can’t sing. After a few ventures into recording on his tinny laptop microphone, he hated them all and deleted every single one. Better then to spend all those nights self-consciously plinking away at the keyboard, trying to match all the words to the right notes so he can jot them down on a blank music score, penning down the lyrics in Kuruta runic script below the notes, and the translation in Hunter Language below that. 

How fascinating! Senritsu is itching to get her hands on a copy of his musical score already. “But that’s wonderful Kurapika! Why don’t you publish them all now instead of waiting until after you’re gone?” 

“Someone is going to find me.” 

“Who else will do it, if you don’t?” 

“My lawyer will. When I’m already dead, it will be too late for someone to track me down and steal my eyes out of my corpse.” 

“Oh Kurapika, you’re ruling out the possibility that you will ever meet someone new who is interested in your writing and wants to find out more.” 

“Don’t scare me Senritsu, the _last_ thing I need is a fan club.” 

“Doesn’t it feel lonely, playing for an empty room?” 

“No.” The spirits of his family are always with him. They must be listening. 

“Just do it. You’ll never stop worrying about it either way.” 

“Alright, alright, I’ll consider it _after_ my clan’s remains are safely returned. You’re going to keep asking me about it until I follow through, aren’t you.” 

“That’s what friends are for!” 

Kurapika wants to be buried in a grave next to Pairo. He wants each pair of eyes returned to their rightful owners with DNA testing. He briefly considers the petty (rude) gesture of mailing his left hand to Neon Nostrade and the right hand to Kuroro Lucifer, except then if Neon might find his morbid story so compelling she would actually keep it, and the Ryodan would probably just think it’s funny. No, that’s a terrible idea. The worms and tree roots of Lukso Province are far more deserving of his flesh. Kurapika is supposed to be over these kinds of morbid thoughts by now, isn’t he? Maybe he’d better book a longer appointment with Doctor Barbadens before he leaves town. 

“Senritsu, I feel nervous. I promised Leorio I would do my best to err on the side of caution, and I’m going to promise you the same thing. I can’t thank you enough for the huge favor you are doing for me.” 

“Don’t forget to call me, okay?” 

“York Shin is nine hours ahead of Kakin Port City time, but I’ll try my best.” 

***

“Good morning everyone. For those of you who don’t know me, my name is Cheadle Yorkshire. I am a Triple Star Disease Hunter and current Chair of the Hunter Association. These are my colleague Gel and Cluck, fellow members of the Zodiacs of the Hunter Association. Their skills in Poison Hunting and Botanical Hunting respectively will aid us in our medical research. I look forward to working with all of you.” 

“Let’s begin with what we know about Zobae, otherwise known as the Immortality Disease. We first learned of the existence of this disease during a previous expedition to the Dark Continent. Out of an expedition of about a hundred travelers to the south shore of the Mobius Sea, only six returned alive. Five never developed an infection. The sixth was a Hunter who is currently unable to die, self-sustaining even without access to food and water. This is where the name Immorality Disease originates.” 

"Zobae Disease re-emerged after a more recent expedition across the Mobius Sea. A further group of about 200 travelers was devastated by the disease. The handful of survivors from this group infected thousands more during their return voyage. It subsequently spread to the Kakin Port City and the surrounding regions, bringing us to the situation we see today."

Cheadle pulls up a slide deck featuring photographs of the affected individual, describing his symptoms in clinical detail. His skin is a dark, ashen grey, except where his arm regrows in a fresh shade of pink after he gnaws it off with his own teeth. His eyes are wild and dilated, with no remaining sign of intelligence. Even without mental awareness, the patient appears disoriented and agitated, drawn toward his observers from behind a thick plastic barrier. 

Kurapika, who is not squeamish and who is nearly certain there is nothing left that could truly shock him, is nevertheless glad when Cheadle’s subsequent slides feature nothing more disturbing than plain text and clip art. 

**Overview:**

**Name:** Zobae Disease (Immortality Disease)  
**Classification:** parasitic nen beast (visible with Gyo under optical microscope)  
**Mortality rate (non nen user):** 100%  
**Mortality rate (nen user):** Unknown  
**Reproduction number:** Unknown  
**Incubation period:** 1-5 days  
**Primary modes of transmission:** Subcutaneous injection, Contact with bodily fluids  
Caution! In a small percentage of cases, Zobae Disease is also known to spread via contact with the aura of an infected individual,  
if the infected individual has sufficient latent talent with nen.

“It is important to note that at this time there are no known cures, treatments, or vaccinations against this disease, and humans have no existing immunity to prevent us from catching it. As a Disease Hunter, that is why I am here. We will explore all avenues to prevent this horrific illness from spreading any further. We have set aside a Recovery Ward to rehabilitate patients, in the hopes that we will be find a way to set our patients back on their feet. In my next set of slides I will describe what the progression of Zobae Disease looks like.”

 **Symptoms From Date of Onset:**  
**Day 1:** Malaise, loss of appetite, restlessness, anxiety, excessive itching.  
**Day 2:** Skin begins to grey. Patient develops insomnia. Patient develops tics in movement and verbal expression.  
**Day 3:** Patient experiences increased energy levels, strength and aggression. Wounds heal at an accelerated rate.  
Patient’s aura is slate grey when viewed with Gyo. Pupils are dilated. Hallucinations are common.  
**Day 4-5:** Extensive neurological effects. Patient loses self-awareness and attacks other living beings on sight.  
Patient expends an unnatural amount of aura and is in a constant state of Ren.  
The patient is the most infectious in this state, typically by inflicting wounds.  
It is critical to restrain the patient, preferably in a nen space or a room bound by nen to keep aura sealed inside.  
**Days 5-7:** Patient consumes life force by expending too much aura, typically resulting in death.  
Patients with a stronger life force have a tendency to survive longer before succumbing to this illness.  
The sole survivor appears to have greatly diminished aura and exhibits less aggression than a typical patient at Day 5.  
He is likely still infectious.

“Now we will move on to the more practical aspects of our work here. We are currently located in Zone C, or the Residential area. I will distribute the key passes to your shared accommodations at the end of this briefing. Should you require any assistance, please speak with the concierge. Meals are available 24 hours a day in the Cafeteria, as we will be working shifts at all hours. You may use the gym between shifts as long as you reserve enough energy to meet our safety requirements which I will show in the next few slides. Zone C also contains meeting rooms of various sizes, which may be booked in advance through our secure online portal. You are welcome to use our office area with the login ID and passwords provided.”

**Safety Requirements:**

Very important!!!!

1\. Personal protective equipment must be worn at all times in the Screening, Quarantine, Inventory, and Recovery areas (Zone B) and the Active Patient, Research and Autopsy areas (Zone A) of the clinic. The hazmat suit is to be worn over scrubs. Closed toed footwear will be provided. Shoe covers and gloves are to be worn over the hazmat suit.

2\. Access from Zone A to Zone B and vice versa requires one pass through the external Decontamination Showers. Your hazmat suit is kept in place and cleaned from the outside. Properly dispose of shoe covers and gloves. New shoe covers and gloves will be provided.

3\. Access from Zones A and B to the Residential area (Zone C) and vice versa requires one pass through the external Decontamination Showers, followed by one pass through the internal Decontamination Showers. Hazmat suits are to be discarded into the chute provided for disinfection. Dispose of shoe covers, gloves and scrubs. Fresh garments will be provided.

4\. Jewelry, watches, etc. are not permitted.

5\. All hair longer than chin length must be tied back.

6\. Contact lenses are not permitted, as these may become contaminated and cannot be easily disinfected.

7\. Prescription glasses may be worn. Glasses shall be sterilized with UV light for five minutes upon entry from Zone C to Zones A or B, and upon exit from Zones A or B to Zone C.

8\. Staff are required to maintain a state of Ten at all times in Zones A and B. Staff whose aura is waning will be verbally reminded to rest for a minimum of two hours before returning to duty, even if subject to the effects of restorative nen.

9\. Any staff in violation of the safety requirements will not be permitted to return to Zone C. The offender will be quarantined for a period of 10 days, then terminated from the roster.

“Please also keep in mind that it is important to get enough rest and eat healthy meals! This line of work requires concentration, attention to detail, and physical endurance. If you are not at your best, your work will not be at its best either. We are all counting on you.” 

Leorio quirks an eyebrow at the schedule that shows up next on Cheadle’s screen. Only Kurapika himself could have orchestrated something more detailed and complicated. It’s color coded down to every half hour, showing how four different shifts are offset to perform their duties in four hour blocks with a few hours for rest and meal times in between. The schedule ensures that there is no time during the day where no one is on staff, and that there is never more than one shift occupying the internal Decontamination Showers at the same time. 

**Schedule:**

First Shift:

0:00 – 6:30 Rest Period  
6:30 – 7:30 Meal Period  
7:30 – 8:00 Decontamination  
8:00 – 12:00 Work  
12:00 – 12:30 Decontamination  
12:30 – 15:30 Meal and Rest Period  
15:30 – 16:00 Decontamination  
16:00 – 20:00 Work  
20:00 – 20:30 Decontamination  
20:30 – 21:30 Meal Period  
21:30 – 23:59 Rest Period

There goes any notion Leorio had of trying to pull off as many working hours as he has grown accustomed to during his one year internship at York Shin General. If he doesn’t stick to just one shift totaling eight hours in a day, he’ll never be able to make heads or tails of which one is when. (Plus the hazmat suits are going to be a pain in the ass that makes it impossible to go take a piss without spending an hour getting in and out of Decontamination. The limitation on the consecutive blocks of working hours is probably for the best.) Honestly, the biggest challenge is going to be pulling off Ten and Hatsu for the full eight hours. It’s going to be a lot worse than triage with Gyo in the ER, where he could assess the whole room in one glance then wait until more patients trickle in before having to use it again. 

Damn, this is a long-ass meeting. Leorio’s attention is beginning to drift toward the clock on the wall. Yeah, yeah, all this information is vital, but Leorio hates long-ass meetings. He’s been sitting for too long; he needs to walk around and stretch for a bit. He really hopes Cheadle’s slide outlining which teams each of the Hunters and nen users present will be working in means that the briefing is drawing to a close. Leorio has been assigned to the R&D team as requested; he couldn’t have asked for anything better. Looks like Kurapika is on Administration. Seriously? Will he be spending most of his day in Zone C? On the surface it sounds safer and more boring that Leorio was expecting. He’ll have to grill Kurapika for details later. 

Speaking of administration, Cheadle is handing out a mountain of paperwork to sign. If there’s anything Leorio hates more than long-ass meetings, it’s long-ass paperwork. Just looking at it makes his hand want to fall off. There’s a liability waiver. Yeah, yeah, as if he didn’t already know exactly what kind of risks he was getting into when he came here. Why do they even bother after all of these people already passed the Hunter Exam and saw how many people died there? Another fairly thick stack involves benefits and workplace insurance. Huh. Honestly more than he was expecting. There’s another form with a copy of the safety procedures and a place for a signature stating that he has read and understood. The next page is a copy of Cheadle’s daily schedule for each shift, and the one after that is a map of the various areas of the clinic (thankfully no signatures required). Lastly, there are the terms of his contract and the salary-

The salary. It makes his remaining student debt, his rent, and all of his expenses look like a figment of his imagination. He could afford to build an entire damned hospital and run the payroll into perpetuity off of the _interest_. Is he hallucinating? Did whoever typed this contract fall asleep leaning on the 0 key? 

“I hope you find everything to your satisfaction, Doctor Paladiknight?” 

Leorio scrabbles to his feet like a newborn giraffe trying to stand at attention. He doesn’t know whether to bow, or nod, or shake hands. His vocal chords are totally useless, trapped between the pounding in his rib cage and the sudden tightness in his throat. 

“You don’t have to sign right away if you need a few days to review all of the fine print. I know it’s a lot to take in all at once.” 

“Yes, Doctor Yorkshire.” he stammers. 

“Please, call me Cheadle. Is it alright if I call you Leorio? The formalities tend to go out the window after the first shift in the wee hours. If you do well in your research and help us save thousands of lives, it will go a long way toward earning the rank of a Single Star Disease Hunter. I wish you the best of luck.” 

“I. Uh. Yes.” By the time he remembers to thank her, Cheadle’s back is already turned as she moves to chat with another staff member. Leorio needs a drink, and/or a bucket of ice poured over his head. As he scoops up all of his paperwork in one arm and tugs at Kurapika’s sleeve with the other. “Kurapika. _Kurapika._ ”

With an amused smile, Kurapika allows Leorio to steer him by the arm until they are standing just outside of the doorway of the conference room. 

“Is this _real_?”

After a cool glance over the topmost sheet Leorio jammed into his hand, Kurapika nods. “This looks like fair compensation to me. Cheadle seems competent, trustworthy and well organized.” 

But Leorio’s brain has already shut down after the first sentence, overrun by sheer primordial joy. He could cry. He could shout from the rooftops. He could sweep Kurapika up in both arms and kiss him breathless, scattering loose sheets of paperwork everywhere. 

“Leorio, _please_ ,” Kurapika gasps, placing a hand across Leorio’s mouth and casting furtive glances toward the closed door to the conference room. “I’m not allowed to wear contacts here.” 

“Oh shit. Sorry.” 

He isn’t too steady on his feet when Leorio sets him down, dropping to his hands and knees and trying to busy himself with the unexciting task of sorting all the paperwork back in order until his eyes follow suit. “Don’t tell me you didn’t bother to read the full job description and the salary before you signed up?” 

Crouching down beside him, Leorio helps pick up the mess off the floor. “I thought I was just expected to show up and I didn’t really have a say in the matter. Would you seriously turn down a request delivered personally by the Chair of the Hunter Association?” 

“It depends on the circumstances.” 

“Oh my god you would.” 

*

“You know, when I asked if you wanted to move in together, this isn’t exactly what I had in mind.” 

Leorio and Kurapika’s shared cabin really isn’t much to write home about. It’s barely big enough to walk around in, featuring a bunk bed too short to accommodate Leorio’s legs, a few scant drawers worth of storage space and a narrow coat closet. 

“Do you think the concierge has any mats so I can sleep on the floor? That way it won’t bother me to have my feet hanging over the edge.” 

“I suppose it couldn’t hurt to ask. What shift are you on?” 

“Third shift. You?” 

“First shift. I’m going to have to be careful not to step on you when our sleep schedules don’t align.” 

“Lucky. You get the cushy day job.” 

“It’s necessary. I’m going to be making a lot of phone calls.” 

*** 02:00 ***

Never has Leorio felt so much pressure and so much creativity in one room. It’s as if the research team has a life of its own. Gel’s poisons, Cluck’s botanical components, and Cheadle’s immunology research show a lot of promise, but they are going to take a lot of time and effort to develop into treatments. Leorio’s Disinfection Beam is ready to test now, but even if it’s successful it’s going to be nearly impossible to scale up beyond the limits of his own aura. _If_ this works, can Leorio work fast enough to cure more people every day than the new ones who get sick, or is it already too late? Could there possibly be a way to use a small amount of nen as an adjuvant to boost the effectiveness of a treatment without completely exhausting his own energy? 

Whatever happens, he can’t quit before he knows he has truly tried. Cheadle gives him the approval to test his Disinfection Beam on one sedated Day 5 patient whose aura is already waning. The patient meets his nen conditions and then some. 

1\. Leorio has read the patient’s chart, and knows the patient’s name and recent medical history.

The chart reads: Shishu Oi No, They/Them, blood type A-, age 47, no prior history of chronic illness. It’s hard to imagine what life was like for the slim grey body before him prior to the devastating sickness that has reduced them to little more than a walking corpse.

2\. The patient has been accurately diagnosed with a terminal illness.  
3\. No effective cure, treatment, or vaccine exists.  
4\. The patient is expected to live for less than six months.  
5\. Leorio has permission to proceed from the medical authority in charge (in this case Cheadle).  
6\. The patient verbally consents to receive treatment, or if the patient is unable to consent at the time of treatment,  
the wishes of the patient’s family are respected and the patient is not under a Do Not Resuscitate order  
7\. Leorio must use a variant of his Palpitation skill first to locate and mark the targeted pathogens for destruction and leave all other  
tissues intact.  
8\. Disinfection Beam can only be used at a very close range on a single patient at a time.  


Careful to keep up a thin barrier of Ten around the rest of his body, Leorio focuses 90% of his aura into his fingertips, then projects it downward. Longer, until it reaches the surface of the surgical table. Thinner, until it resembles a shimmering sheet of cold rolled metal. Smaller, until it can permeate through cell walls and latch onto an abnormal life force within. Hovering just above the skin, Leorio passes his hands with methodical slowness over Shishu’s hair, then their ashen grey head, then their neck, chest, abdomen, right arm, left arm, hips, right leg, and left leg. After requesting assistance to turn them over onto their stomach, Leorio repeats the entire procedure from the beginning. When he is finished, he focuses Gyo into his eyes to observe Shishu’s aura: a clean, very weak layer of white.

Only time will tell what happens next. They may or may not be infectious anymore. They may never regain consciousness. The neurological effects may be irreversible. Shishu Oi No may yet die. Leorio, Cheadle, the anaesthetic nurse and their assistants do their best to stabilize the patient and make them comfortable. This patient is the first to be wheeled to the Recovery ward, and Leorio doesn’t know how to feel about it. All of this took _two hours_. For _one_ patient- a drop in the bucket. God, that’s slow. Is it even worth it? 

“Do you need to rest?” 

“Not yet-”

“Be honest.” 

“-But only if I do nothing but Ten and Gyo. As much as I’d like to, I don’t think I can handle treating another patient today. It’s pretty intense.” 

“You’ve done a good job. The results look promising.” 

“I don’t think they’re going to make it.” 

“It’s very difficult with a late stage patient. Even if they don’t survive, your efforts will not have gone to waste. By examining organs, tissues and blood samples and comparing the post treatment results with the pre-treatment baseline, we can hone our approach to treating future patients.” 

“I know. It’s just… one whole year of experience hasn’t made it much easier to lose someone, even if I never got to know them personally.” 

“Focus on the positive, even when it’s hard.” 

“You’re right…”

“Come, Leorio. Let’s help Cluck make up another assay of hornweed extract with various mixtures of Gel’s prepared solvents. I would like you to save your strength for the late morning session. If the results on your first subject are as promising as they look, we can focus your efforts on a Day 1 patient next. The prognosis is likely to be much better in the early stages of the disease.” 

*** 06:30 ***

Fresh faced and bright eyed because he just got up, Kurapika is a sight for sore eyes. This is the first time Leorio has ever seen him in pale blue scrubs, with unadorned ears and with his blond hair bunched into a small ponytail, the loose strands at the front framing his chin. 

“Good morning, Leorio.” 

“Hey.” He stifles a yawn. “You look cute today.” 

“Do you need a pick me up? My outlook for this morning is nothing but paperwork, so I can help.” 

Nothing gets past the critical look on Kurapika’s face. “Damn, that bad, huh?” Leorio is aware that he probably looks the worse for wear, and he isn’t about to glance in the mirror to check. He’s going to need a few days to adjust his sleep schedule to his new routine. Maybe he should have taken a nap instead of waiting two whole hours to coordinate his lunch time with Kurapika’s breakfast. “I guess? Cheadle wants me to go easy with the nen in the late morning block, and coffee isn’t going to help. I’m a little disappointed there isn’t more I can do, but you just can’t rush things.” 

“I suppose that’s just as well.” Kurapika hasn’t tested this skill before, and he doesn’t know exactly how it’s going to affect him yet. “Come with me for a minute.” 

Cryptic as hell. Leorio follows Kurapika back to their cabin, wondering what’s going on the entire way there. Kurapika sits down on the bottom bunk and pushes Leorio down by the shoulder to have a seat on the mat in front of him. 

Force of habit still makes it hard for Kurapika to open up about his abilities, but for Leorio he’s going to make an effort this time. He doesn’t want to freak him out. “Leorio. When I said I wanted to give you my nen, I meant it literally.” 

“What, like I’ll stick out my thumb and suddenly I’ll know how to generate a healing chain?” 

“No, I mean raw aura that you can use for your own abilities.” 

“Don’t you need it for yourself?” 

“The only ability I need here is Ten, and that will only be when I am checking supplies in Inventory and the general mood in Screening, Recovery and Quarantine. I would like to pass you the surplus nen that I don’t need so you can use it to save more lives instead of letting it go to waste.” 

“What does it do to you?” 

“First of all I need to use my modified version of Emperor Time, which I can only use when I am fully rested and forces me in to Zetsu after use for as long as it takes me to recover.” Being this close to a deadly, as of yet incurable disease, even with safety precautions in place, is enough for Kurapika to count his and Leorio’s life as being in danger. “Second, the Transfer Chain ability I developed is meant to be a straightforward energy transfer – one hour worth of energy for each second of transfer. Don’t look at me like that. I’m not robbing from my lifespan and I won’t end up with a pounding headache or a fever when I’ll only ever need to use my Transfer Chain for a few seconds at a time. I’ll just have less energy to use for my own abilities which is fine because I don’t think even my Holy Chain will be of much use for these patients, and I’m not in charge of security. I’m not entirely sure how it’s going to affect me because I haven’t used it yet, but worst case I might need a couple more hours of sleep. I am also required to stay in Zone C as long as the Zetsu is in place. It’s easy enough to plan my schedule around. Are you okay with this? Will you accept nen from me?” 

“I’m still a little nervous about it, but it sounds like it could come in handy. Don’t go crazy.” 

One blink later Kurapika’s eyes are scarlet. “Give me your arm.” 

“Thanks for telling me.” 

A narrow silver chain originating from Kurapika’s index finger ends in the shape of a hypodermic needle, jabs itself into the meat of Leorio’s shoulder. Leorio flinches for a second before he realizes it didn’t hurt. 

Four… Kurapika still knows how to compress hours into seconds. Three… It’s the only way to put enough pressure on the gaseous wisps of his aura to compress it into an easily transported liquid. Two… Leorio unfolds from his cross-legged slouch. One… the spark leaps back to his eyes, and Leorio’s aura is a little brighter. The chain dematerializes. Kurapika’s aura vanishes, and his eyes blink back to brown. Outwardly nothing much looks different, except Kurapika seems a bit winded. Kurapika stretches his arms over his head, rolls his head and shoulders, and leans back against the wall behind the bunk. He takes a series of deep breaths, waiting for his heartbeat to slow back to normal. 

“I gave you four hours. How do you feel?” 

“Pretty good.” It’s different from Senritsu’s restorative flute solo- that makes him feel like he can push through another long shift on his feet but it doesn’t do so much for his depleted nen. Suddenly the lightbulb goes off and Leorio’s eyes snap open wider. “Hahaha it’s a literal shot in the arm. Wait a minute, wait a minute, have all of your chains been puns this whole time and I didn’t even notice?” 

Kurapika blushes slightly. “Thumbs up, finger gun, fuck you in particular, ball and chain, pinky swear. It was easy to remember that way.” And on the left hand his Chain Mail comes from the ring finger because he uses it to surround himself, an opponent or an object, the nets come from his left pinky because it’s right next to his ring finger, and the Grappling Chain shoots from his left index finger in the direction he wants to go. 

“I love you Pika. That’s going to keep me entertained all day.” 

Pika. There’s a nickname he hasn’t heard since- Kurapika reaches up to touch the earring that isn’t there. The lightness of its absence feels wrong, wrong, wrong. 

“Hey. You okay? You went quiet all of a sudden.” 

“It was supposed to be a gift for my best friend.” Like the two halves of a friendship bracelet, only Kurapika thought an earring was cooler, more daring and less feminine at the time (now he doesn’t care _what_ anyone thinks). He wasn’t supposed to end up stuck with both. 

“I’m so sorry.” 

“Don’t be. I’m grateful for the memory, even though it makes me sad.” 

*** 14:30 ***

After the second block of his shift, Leorio doesn’t find Kurapika waiting for him in the cafeteria, nor is he still in the office working when it’s supposed to be his rest period. Instead he’s in the third place Leorio thinks to check, curled up like an angel in his bed. Leorio will never get over how soft and peaceful Kurapika’s face looks when he’s sleeping. SO tempting to kiss him on the cheek, or the forehead, or to brush back his hair- he’ll explain to Kurapika if he wakes up cranky- you have no idea. 

Kurapika wakes up groggy. “Hnnh.” 

“Whoops. Did I wake you?” 

“S’fine.” 

“Good nap?” 

“I can’t decide if I overslept or I didn’t sleep enough.” 

“Want to go grab lunch?” 

“Yeah. If I’m still tired after that I have time to go back to sleep for another hour.” 

“Can I kiss you properly yet?” Leorio loops an arm around him and murmurs in his ear. 

Abruptly, Kurapika feels much, much more awake. “ _Clearly_ I gave you too much energy if it’s giving you ideas.” 

“Guess I’d better return it then!” He slips his hand up Kurapika’s shirt, sending pulses of power from his fingertips to trace the curve of the soft skin under his ribcage, waist to abdomen to sternum. 

It _tingles_. A stream of senseless, embarrassing praise tumbles out of Kurapika’s lips in Kuruta before he can bite back the words. 

“What’s that? I don’t hear any complaints.” Coming from the quietest, most secretive lover in the world, that voice goes straight to Leorio’s ego. 

“ _Now look what you’ve done. You’ve painted red on the walls and I can’t leave._ ”

Come hither eyes delivered with a scolding tone. Classic Kurapika. “No idea what you just said but I’m pretty sure that _was_ a complaint, so I can safely claim ignorance.” 

Then Kurapika gets impatient and yanks him into that kiss he was promised. Trying to fold Leorio’s gangly frame into the short, narrow bunk and the low clearance above it rapidly devolves into an awkward three dimensional game of Tetris. There will be wrinkles. He may not show up to the cafeteria looking professional and entirely decent, but he is going to be in a very, very good mood. 

***

Shishu Oi No has died. Leorio feels a hollow ache in his chest seeing the familiar slate grey, unsmiling face on the autopsy table. He tries to tell himself it could have been worse. At least they look peaceful. At least they did not become immortal, trapped in miserable incomprehension for the foreseeable future. This death will not be in vain. There is still so much to learn. Mentally, he rolls up and gets to work. 

***

Logistically impossible supply chains? Ask Kurapika. Staying two steps ahead of the political interference? Ask Kurapika. Communicating the right message to calm down the terrified public from spiraling into mass hysteria? Ask Kurapika. It’s scary how transferable his mafia skills are. Inside of a week nobody can imagine how they could possibly run the place without him. 

In the morning he flips through spreadsheets and badgers government officials into compliance over the phone. In the afternoon he goes to the trouble of donning a full hazmat suit to make the rounds of Zone B, taking mental notes everywhere he goes. He makes it his business to track all of their stocks of inventory, every figure in the account books, every Hunter on staff, their specialties, their research materials and progress, and their schedules, until he knows what they’re going to need even before they do. Leorio is convinced that his boyfriend is either psychic or has a photographic memory. Or both. Kurapika counters that Cheadle’s leadership style makes it easy. The two of them get along surprisingly well. 

Whenever there’s a momentary lull in the chaos, the hospital volunteer side of Kurapika glimmers to the forefront. He spends time with the frightened, isolated patients in Quarantine, listening more than talking. When he can find nothing comforting to say, he helps to put them in touch with their families. He scans over the crowd in Screening with his own Gyo while the Hunters usually assigned to the task are pulled off to an emergency, dealing with a patient who has abruptly become violent. He even joins a round of Uno with a group of school aged children waiting in the Screening area, softening the blow for parents on the receiving end of devastating news. 

As for the multitudes who are fated to die in spite of the team’s best efforts, well, there’s nothing he can do. Kurapika is there to bear witness in a way that he couldn’t with his own family. He couldn’t hold their hands. He couldn’t offer solidarity. He couldn’t listen to their last goodbyes, only to the sound of wood splintering among the roaring flames. Even though he doesn’t even know any of these people, each one weighs on him like a pebble until his heart is once again surrounded by a wall of stone. 

That way lies madness. Knowing he is at his mental limit, Kurapika physically pulls himself away. Along with the rest of Shift 1, who he has been slow and shy in getting to know, he submits to the indignity of both Decontamination showers, the daily cheek swab, blood test and Gyo scan on the way back to the residential zone. Then in the safety of their shared sleeping quarters Kurapika tiptoes around the sleeping form of Leorio on his floor mat, flops face down in the bottom bunk and lets all the red rush into his eyes with a massive sigh of relief. Everything has been happening so much that he doesn’t even know _what_ he’s feeling right now, only that suppressing it all day is terrible. 

It’s just after 5:30 am in York Shin time, too early even for Senritsu, who wakes up with the songbirds at her window. Kurapika hesitates. Will her sensitive hearing interrupt her sleep if he sends her a text message? 

_Kurapika: Please text me when you’re up._

He buries his face in his pillow again, zoning out in the darkness. To his left and below him, Leorio tosses and turns in his sleep. This has been especially hard on him, knowing his raw power can barely attempt to save more than one life in a day, and knowing it won’t be nearly enough. Slowly, carefully so as not to wake him, Kurapika lowers himself onto the floor. He drapes one arm softly around Leorio’s torso and presses his ear up against Leorio’s back, listening to the reassuring sound of his breathing. 

_Senritsu: Good morning Kurapika 🙂_

_Senritsu: How are you doing?_

Feeling calmer already, Kurapika sneaks out of the cabin and locks himself into a small meeting room in the empty office area. He presses the call button. 

“Hello Senritsu. I miss you.” 

“I miss you too. What have you been up to lately?” 

“You first. Please divert me from this den of pestilence and bureaucracy with your dulcet tones. I need to gather my strength.” 

“You’re so dramatic, Kurapika. I ought to take you to the theater sometime. Or even better – have you ever watched a musical?” 

“Can’t say I have.” 

“You’ll love it. Half of the really good ones are tear jerkers, but I can also recommend a few comedies. Bring your contacts just in case. Or we could just rent a DVD and watch it at my place, but the experience isn’t quite as dramatic on the small screen.” 

“You’re discounting the staying power of throw blankets and a cup of tea.” 

“Only if the weather is cold.” 

“True enough.” 

“So how is the Music Hunting going? Found any fascinating new compositions?” 

“I’m giving myself some time off from Music Hunting. I missed being in the company of professional musicians, so I decided to audition for first flute in the York Shin Symphony Orchestra and their wind quintet.” 

“I’m trying to imagine what a wind quintet sounds like. I’m sure it must be beautiful.” 

“I enjoy chamber music. It’s a much different atmosphere with a smaller group.” 

Kurapika takes a deep breath. “I think I’m ready to tell you about my day now.” 

“You sound a bit stressed.” 

“Being here is… how do I put this? It feels right, but it’s also hard. Part of me is working through my own grief vicariously with all of these strangers. At the same time it isn’t fair that any of them have to be here because of someone else’s carelessness. There’s so little I can try to do other than to offer some small comforts before they die. I don’t even have time to see most of them. None of them know who I am, not really. I’m just the cog in the wheel trying to make sure we have enough access to protective equipment, reagents, restricted poisons and plants, and previous medical research materials so that the research team never has to worry about running out of supplies. I also keep the media from bursting down our doors, or spreading fear and misinformation, and I keep the senior members of the Kakin Royal Family’s collected noses out of joint. All this is their fault.” 

“How is Leorio?” 

“He’s sleeping right now, or else I would have asked him if he wanted to talk to you. The research team hasn’t been able to save anyone yet as far as I can see. Leorio has been trying not to take it too hard, but he hasn’t always succeeded. He is discouraged by the slow progress. At least I can spend more time with him lately. We have strange work schedules that don’t align well, but there are enough break times between our four hour work blocks that we can usually eat meals together and talk for a little while. I’ve been trying to support him as much as I can. Hugs and kisses.” Kurapika is sure Senritsu can hear his smile over the phone. “I’ve also been giving him half of my nen. He can make better use of it than I can.” 

“Aw. Your heartbeats are so sweet side by side.” 

“I like to listen to his heartbeat sometimes, even though I don’t know what it means.” 

“It means he loves you. You don’t need to know the details.” 

“Even I knew that much.” 

***

“Hello, my name is Doctor Paladiknight. May I call you Miss Anise?” 

Second approved Disinfection Beam subject: Anise Danae Danae, age 42, blood type O+, diagnosed with Zobae Disease (Day 1). 

“It doesn’t matter, it doesn’t matter, I’m going to die!” His second patient hugs her thin arms around herself, compulsively scratching angry red marks into her skin as the rest of her body shakes with sobs. 

“Not if I can help it.” Autopsy results: at the time of death, Shishu Oi No (Day 6 from onset) was all cleared of infection, but was too weak and damaged to recover. It’s time to try again. Leorio struggles to smooth away the hard, grim lines from his expression. Miss Anise needs kindness, comfort, _hope_. “If you will allow me, I will use a treatment on you to help you feel better.” Neither a lie nor a false hope. “Is that alright?” 

“It doesn’t matter, it doesn’t matter.” 

“Miss, I’m going to need you to lie down on the examination table.” 

She collapses gently onto her stomach, crying a mess of tears into the crook of her elbow. Resisting the urge to sigh, Leorio wordlessly passes her an entire box of tissues. He sets to work. Right from the outset he can feel a big difference; with a parasitic load orders of magnitude lower than the Day 5 patient, the Disinfection Beam uses much less nen and changes the feel of the Day 1 patient’s aura much more quickly. Out of an abundance of caution, Leorio lets his Hatsu linger for a few seconds longer than he feels is strictly necessary before moving on from one area to the next. 

“Feeling any better?” 

She shrugs, tossing a used tissue into the waste paper basket with haphazard accuracy. Leorio is going to have to empty the whole lot into Biohazard waste and get the basket disinfected, but he isn’t about to correct her. Miss Anise’s sobbing has tapered off into a few sporadic sniffles; he’s going to take that as a very good sign. The silence stretches on for several minutes as Leorio applies his ability to her shoulders, back and legs. 

“Turn over please. I need to treat both sides.” 

“It’s very strange… I can feel you doing something, but I can’t see a thing.” 

“It’s invisible.” For most people, Leorio doesn’t add. “Think of it like a sort of ultrasound.” 

Anise sighs with an air of tired detachment. “Both my children and my husband already died. I don’t know why I’m even here.” 

“Your brain may think you’ve given up hope, but your body is still throwing everything into trying to keep you alive. Know why? It’s because there is life after tragedy, out there beyond those doors. I know because I’ve been through it myself. Losing my best friend was the reason I decided to become a doctor. And if you don’t believe me, I have a friend who’s just like you. I can drop him a hint to come and see you this afternoon. The blond, beautiful one, if you can tell through these ridiculous space suits. Sometimes I feel like I’m working on the moon.” 

If Anise looks hard enough, she can make out a human behind that garish orange ventilated suit, tall, young and handsome, well-meaning and a little bit silly. Placing long, delicate fingers over her lips, Anise dares to smile. 

*

It’s been nearly an hour, and Kurapika can barely get a word in edgewise. Leorio is in _tears_ , both hands grasping at his hair and his elbows knocking into everything. Hugs didn’t work. Neither did trying to initiate a sparring match. It isn’t like Leorio to be so _unreasonable_. Watching him pace around in circles is making Kurapika’s blood boil. 

“Leorio.” 

If he argues himself around in circles for _one_ more minute, Kurapika is phoning Senritsu. 

“THIS one’s going to live.” 

“I _know._ ”

“Miss Anise HAS to.” 

“ _Leorio._ ”

“If she doesn’t- if she doesn’t- it will mean the ability I’ve spent literal _years_ working on is _totally useless_ because I can’t even save _one_ life and there are so many more after her who have no hope at all-”

“Leorio will you **shut up** and **listen** for two seconds? You are **not useless and you will **never** be useless. Do you understand me?” **

“But-”

“Stop. Count with me. How many lives have you already saved?” 

“Zero.” 

“Wrong. You’re not looking back far enough. First of all, you saved Gon and Killua, and myself from my stupid reckless behavior all on the same day.” 

“I couldn’t have done it without everyone’s help.” 

“That doesn’t make it any less true.” 

“Then that’s three…”

“How about Monique, whose leukemia finally went into remission after she spent almost her entire life in York Shin General’s Pediatric wing?” Kurapika had a soft spot for that frail little five year old; she liked to read the same book to him over and over again, about a little piglet who ran away, landed himself in a series of little adventures, and finally decided that he was happiest in his own little mud puddle at home. “You cried about it for days.” 

“That’s four…”

“And all the car accident victims after that ice storm on the highway?” 

“ _Maybe_ that’s a solid dozen. All I really did was stop the bleeding, give them blood transfusions and set their broken bones though. Relatively easy stuff.” 

“And Walking Bass Shahan’s open heart surgery?” Kurapika is never going to come up with a stage name as cool as Senritsu’s jazz band’s nimble, geriatric bass player, who is back to tearing up the dance floor with all the ladies when it isn’t his turn to play. 

“That was scary. Technically I was only an assistant and an observer.” 

“It counts. You’re too tall to sell yourself short.” 

Leorio stares. Scarlet eyes, deadpan annoyance, matter of fact delivery, _stupid pun_. The instant he starts to crack up, he can’t stop. Somehow Kurapika’s put upon sigh makes it even funnier, along with the way he pinches the bridge of his nose as his eyes fade to brown. 

_Finally._ “If you’re _quite_ finished, let’s go have lunch, or dinner, or whatever this strange mealtime is supposed to be. I’m famished and you need to go to bed.” 

*

While he was on his previous trip to Kakin seeking the last of his brethren’s eyes, Kurapika’s own eyes may as well have had blinkers on. He had dismissed this country as universally terrible: destitute poverty juxtaposed against staggering wealth. Same shit, different smell. He may as well have stayed in York Shin City with the mafia cohort: at least familiarity made their conniving feel almost friendly by now. Interacting with some of the patients rapidly changed Kurapika’s perspective: to really get to know a country, you have to become familiar with the people who are making the best of their small lives beneath the heels of high society, not the ones who are on TV. 

That, and you have to try the food. 

Kurapika doesn’t think he’s ever going to get bored of Kakin style spicy noodle soup: cheap, fragrant, hot, and filling. Today’s flavor of the day is tomato and peanut, piled high with bean sprouts and sesame. It’s impossible to slurp up noodles without sacrificing a little dignity and making a bit of a mess. He helps himself to a big bowl and cheers up instantly. 

“I can’t believe you were _hangry_. I must have missed the memo somewhere when you started actually remembering to eat meals.” 

“No, this is a recent development. I think it’s a side effect of the Transfer Chain. I’ve been on an irregular work schedule for so long that my circadian rhythm never knows when I’m supposed to eat.” 

“That’s sad.” 

Kurapika sticks his tongue out at Leorio, then goes back for seconds. 

“At this rate we’re going to end up with as many empty bowls and plates as Gon and Killua.” 

“Not _that_ many. And these noodles leave Gon and Killua’s donuts and pizza in the dust.” 

“Alright not that many. Still a run for their money though.” 

“We’re burning a lot of nen, the energy has to come from _somewhere_.”

“Hey actually before you go for your second work block, there was something I wanted to ask you. Do you visit the Recovery ward when you make your rounds of Zone B in the afternoons?” 

“Yes, I always check in there.” He doesn’t want to dishearten Leorio by mentioning that he never stays long. Until there’s a major breakthrough in their research, the Recovery ward will remain a quiet, lonely place. 

“I would feel better if you could keep Miss Anise company for a while. She’s… alone. I worry about her mental state.” 

“You know I’m not very good with people Leorio, but I’ll do what I can.” 

“Great! I told her she’d get a visit from the blond, beautiful one.” 

Kurapika lets out a huff of a laugh and shakes his head. 

*

Anise Danae Danae walks from her bed to her window and stares at the empty desolation outside. Alone in her room, alone in the entire Recovery ward, she may as well be the only woman alive in the whole world. The staff members in their garish orange protective gear come and go like interchangeable ghosts, each of them glowing in a thin cloud of wispy white. They leave her meals, check her vital signs, offer a few meaningless words of encouragement, then leave when she doesn’t respond. She doesn’t feel much like eating. 

Kurapika stands in the doorway trying to be unobtrusive as he casts his eyes around the room. It is rather depressing in here, isn’t it? One would hardly believe the room is occupied, given the complete lack of personal belongings, decorations and visitors. Not even the TV is on. 

Anise turns around and startles at the sight of another ghost she hadn’t noticed sneaking up on her. This one is so quiet. 

“Excuse me,” the ghost clears his throat. “Don’t you find it terribly boring in here? Can I get you a book to read?” 

“It doesn’t matter.” Time isn’t real. No attempt at diversion will alter whether it passes more quickly or more slowly. 

“No,” sighs Kurapika. “I suppose it doesn’t.” There ought to at least be a bouquet of flowers for a bit more color to look at than the white walls and white sheets. He’s in charge of procurement, and he will feel like he isn’t doing his duty if he doesn’t try to fill the vacuum in this room with _something_.

This ghost doesn’t feel the same as one of the busy nurses or doctors. Anise tentatively steps forward, idly curious, and tries to inspect the face behind the clear plastic hood. She spies a lock of blond hair and the face of an angel. “Do you know Doctor Paladiknight?” 

His smile gives him away long before his voice does. “Unfortunately.” 

“Then tell me. Is it worth it? Is there still a point to living after you lose everyone you’ve ever loved?” 

She’s spooked him, this ghost with wide, wounded eyes that suddenly glow in a breathtaking, unnatural shade of red. He stumbles backward one step and turns to flee; she catches him by the hand, unafraid, and stops him in his tracks. “Please don’t leave.” If he is a ghost, why does his gloved hand feel so warm and solid? “I have nowhere to go. I have no one. He said he knew a friend just like me…”

Kurapika lets Anise lead him by the hand to a guest chair; she sits down at an angle to him on the edge of her bed. “I’m sorry. Your question hit too close to home. I wasn’t expecting to be caught off guard by someone I haven’t even been introduced to. My name is Kurapika.” This is definitely not how he normally introduces himself, but she’s already seen right through him. “I am the sole surviving member of the Kuruta Clan. We were hunted down because these scarlet eyes of mine are worth billions on the black market.” 

“My name is Anise Danae Danae. I lost my husband and my sons, my two darling babies, to the Zobae plague. Everyone around me is dying.” She leans forward to reach for his other hand and gives both of them a squeeze, no longer sure whether she is reassuring herself or the bundled up figure in front of her. “I couldn’t even bury them. They had to burn the bodies, to stop the spread…”

Kurapika’s voice goes very quiet. “Would you like a hug?” According to the more detailed notes on Cheadle’s safety regulations, close interaction with a Zone B patient is allowed as long as he has just gone through the external Decontamination showers. “I know it’s awkward, coming from a stranger.” 

But she already has her arms around his neck, sobbing the vast weight of unshed tears into the waterproof fabric of his shoulder. 

“My therapist assigned me one hug per day as homework,” Kurapika babbles on, unsure whether she’s listening. “But she said humans actually need a minimum of four hugs a day to thrive. It struck me as a strange sort of statistic after I had been alone for so long. For related reasons, supposedly premature babies in the neonatal intensive care unit will stop growing if they are deprived of human touch, which is why the nurses give them massages every day. And to answer your question, yes. It’s worth it. I lost a few years before I came to that conclusion. At first there is only pain. Blinding, numbing, all consuming. I know how hard it is to see past the fog. The only way out is to find support in places you’ve never had to look before, from someone new who can tear you out of the past and ground you in the present.” 

Anise goes through five or six tissues in rapid succession. “You’re not a ghost, then?” 

“I beg your pardon?” 

“Why are you glowing white?” 

Kurapika should have known Leorio’s Hatsu was going to have the unintended consequence of unlocking his patients’ latent nen abilities. “You are seeing my aura, otherwise known as life energy. The staff are required to use this form of energy to shield ourselves from a mode of disease transmission. Yours will be white too, if you concentrate hard enough. Since you’re already able to see my aura, it’s best if you learn how to shield yourself too, because we don’t have enough research at this stage to know whether it’s possible to be immune from catching Zobae Disease twice. It will also be good for you to have a task to focus on, something to draw you out of yourself. I can teach you, if you’re willing to learn.” 

*

“So how is Miss Anise?” 

“Stronger than she knows.” 

“Takes one to know one, right?” 

“Are you talking about me, Leorio? You’re the one who cured her. You should be proud of yourself.” 

“Shh. Don’t jinx it.” 

***

Anise is the first of many. After seeing proof that his Disinfection Beam really works, Leorio goes from curing one patient per week to one per day, then two per day. Leorio maxes out at four in one day, after Kurapika ups his output from transferring four hours’ worth of nen to Leorio to eight. Between work hours he’s been eating and napping so much they barely have time to talk. Cheadle catches on quickly, and makes both of them take at least one rest day each week. 

The Recovery ward fills up with survivors faster and faster. Kurapika’s shy attempts at encouragement gradually morph into the start of a Zobae survivor support group which he feels supremely underqualified to be in charge of. In his spare time Kurapika phones Doctor Barbadens for advice. His private nen lessons become an entire class. After their ten day quarantine and observation period is up, some patients decide to go home and leave. Anise and some of the other survivors decide to stay, and apply to become part of the hospital staff. After all, where else can they go? All the new connections they’ve been forging are right here. 

Cheadle is grateful for the help. Those survivors in the Recovery ward who consent to donating their blood become an integral part of the research efforts. Cheadle’s research team spend weeks looking for answers in the recovered patients’ antibodies. The biggest challenge is that in the face of a parasitic nen beast, the immune system isn’t strong enough without support from the patient’s own life force- or in the case of Leorio’s patients, the weaponized life force of an external source. Making the patient’s aura turn against the nen beast trying to consume it is a lot like combating an autoimmune disease. It’s even trickier to come up with treatments that don’t automatically bring nen completely to life in a vast swath of the population. Done wrong, all of the new untrained nen users could rapidly get out of hand. 

With brute force, perseverance and sheer luck, the research team develops the first small scale experimental treatment from a combination of plasma donations, antibody treatments, and Cluck and Gel’s aura boosting experimental drug formulations. The moment the team achieves their first big breakthrough, Leorio’s conditions for his Disinfection Beam are no longer met, and he has to focus his efforts on finding treatments that can work on a larger scale instead. The supply of newly minted nen users stops increasing, Anise takes over as the head of the survivor support group, and soon Kurapika also finds himself with a little more time on his hands. 

So much pent up aura and nowhere to use it. Lifting weights is boring. Running on the treadmill going nowhere is boring and also makes Kurapika feel like a caged hamster. There hasn’t been an attempt on Kurapika’s life in _months_. After spending all morning on the phone and at the computer, Kurapika can’t bear to sit still for long enough to pick up a book and read. 

“Leorio. _Fight_ me. I’m going stir crazy.” 

“Ooh that sounds like fun. Rules? Nen or no nen?” 

“With nen. If either of us gets hurt, I’ll fix it. Knock me down for one point, trap me in a pin, hold, or headlock for two points. First one to get to ten points wins.” 

“Hey uh. About that. Are you going to get mad if I make you- you know- get carried away?” 

Around Leorio, it’s so natural he almost _forgot_. For a moment, Kurapika is paralyzed with fear. This is the longest he’s been without contacts on in years. It isn’t _fair_ that he can’t wear his heart on his sleeve in public. It has never been fair. 

“I know you don’t like talking about it, but it’s been an open secret among the administration for a while now. The reason why you applied to become a Hunter has been on your file ever since you said so during the pre-registration.” 

In his head, he knew. But in his heart- “Maybe I _always_ needed therapy,” Kurapika laughs weakly. “I’ve been repeatedly told from childhood that strong emotions are taboo and not to be shown to anyone under any circumstances." 

“You mean you’ve been holding yourself back this whole time?” 

“I- yeah.” 

“That _is_ fucked up. You’re safe here Kurapika. Relax.” 

“I do still want to spar with you,” he admits nervously. 

“So if I make you get carried away?” 

“You might regret it.” 

Or he might _like_ it. Leorio is so royally fucked. Because according to the cool, hungry calculation in Kurapika’s brown eyes, 1) he doesn’t stand a chance, and 2) he has a 100% chance of getting laid before Kurapika’s break is up. 

“Way to put a guy at a disadvantage. Don’t incentivize me to lose faster.” 

“Don’t disappoint me, Leorio.” 

Hnng. The _way_ he says it. 

Weird how long they’ve known each other, and Kurapika hasn’t ever used nen against him until now. They’ve never really trained together, and there hasn’t been a need. The last time they seriously fought each other was back aboard the ship to the Hunter exam, involving two swords, a pocket knife, a bad attitude and a bruised ego. Leorio can’t help wondering who would have won if Gon hadn’t launched himself overboard. 

Dowsing Chain versus Remote Punch- this is clearly going to be a ranged battle. The gym instantly becomes a four dimensional tangle of chains, portals and disembodied flying fists. Kurapika has to use all of his senses to guess where he has to dodge next, nimbly dancing out of the way on one foot, two feet, both arms. Seeing an opening, he sends the blunt end of his chain weaving right back at Leorio through his own portal. _Bam_ , an uppercut to the jaw. Leorio blocks with enough Ten to avoid any damage, but it does knock him off balance. As Leorio staggers backward by one step, a Chain Mail net snaps up from the floor beneath his feet, stringing up his struggling body from the ceiling. 

“Two points.” 

Leorio portals his way out of the net. “You mean _one_ point. Nice try.” Hiding his next portal with In, he reaches down and yanks Kurapika’s feet right out from under him, holding him upside down by the ankles. “And that’s two points for me.” If he hoists him up high enough, he can plant a little kiss beside Kurapika’s navel, where gravity has made his shirt ride up and exposed a swath of bare skin. 

During one stupid, breathless moment of failing to escape, Kurapika forgets that he has no leverage and Leorio has him beat on raw strength. Is he that rusty already or is the distraction seriously slowing down his reaction time? For shame, Kurapika. Hooking himself to the floor with his Grappling Chain, he lands on both arms, rolls forward and uses his momentum to throw Leorio to the floor along with him. “Two-two.” He wrenches his legs free; hops back to his feet and tries to pretend he had a plan all along. Yeah right. Leorio doesn’t buy it for one second. 

He scatters portals all over the room again, half visible, half hidden. It’s fun keeping Kurapika on his toes. Dodging a series of punches, kicks, a knife throw and a full body tackle, Kurapika is literally bouncing off the walls, jumping and grappling from one surface to the next. Chain nets keep materializing overhead, trying to snare Leorio at the exit of every portal. The ones that haven’t disappeared from the floor are lurking in a few key strategic locations, anything but innocent, just waiting for him to mess up. 

“Want me to toss a few taunts at you to get you warmed up?” 

Kurapika is breathing harder, wiping the sweat from his forehead with one sleeve. “I am warmed up.” 

“No.” Leorio sinks into the floor and pops up again right behind Kurapika, locking his arms around his waist. “You’re not.” he murmurs into Kurapika’s neck, passing just enough of his Palpitation skill through his lips to dare Kurapika to accuse him of cheating. Four-Two. 

The world flips upside down. Before Leorio knows what’s happening, Kurapika flings him clear across the gym to the far wall, where he smacks against a blue mat below the basketball net before dropping face first onto the floor. Four-three. 

Leorio dives though the floor to right himself, dropping back out of the ceiling onto his feet. Only Kurapika’s Dowsing Chain already divined exactly where he was going to land before Leorio knew it himself. Kurapika- easily two or three times faster than a second ago- tackles Leorio to the ground like a blond missile. His grin is predatory and his eyes are red, red, _red_. Five-Four Kurapika. 

Easily two or three times _stronger_ too, goddamn. Leorio practically has to blast him away with raw Emitter nen just to peel him off. None of his Remote Punches are landing. Chain mail nets keep sprouting up from the floor like deadly blooms. One of them trips him. Six-four. He barely jumps out of the way of the next one fast enough. And the next, and the next, and the next. Leorio feels like he’s hopping across a bed of hot coals. 

The nets start _chasing_ him, flying in from three different directions. He’ll never escape; Leorio can tell Kurapika will set up another trap right at the exit of his portal. So Leorio Remote Punches through the floor to grab up his pocket knife from where it fell, reinforces it with Sho and slashes the nets around him to shreds. 

Then Kurapika’s Dowsing Chain takes Leorio’s legs right out from under him. Seven-four. It coils around him so tightly he can’t move his arms or legs. Nine-four. Kurapika drags him closer along the floor, reeling him in like a big fish. “Uh oh, I’ve been a bad boy.” Not even going to bother with the last point is he? Yeah, Leorio might as well just give up at this point. “Tying me up, Kurapika? So kinky.” 

“Oh my god.” Kurapika drops into a seated position facing away from him, burying his burning face in both hands. The Dowsing Chain dematerializes, along with all of the scattered nets. 

“Aw, I was looking forward to being dragged away to your top secret evil hideout.” 

“In _public_? In the middle of the _day_?”

“Oh come on, like it seriously never even occurred to you once before. Deny it all you want, I’ll never believe you.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Leorio can you cure Covid? pls thx
> 
> Joking aside I realized at the end of this chapter that I ran out of ideas for how Cheadle, Cluck, Gel and Leorio are supposed to come up with a cure that actually works, and this chapter was already so overgrown anyway that I decided I'm just going to skip it and say that it happened lol. The key stuff I wanted to capture were Leorio and Kurapika's daily interactions.


	6. Kuruta Village, Lukso Province

Two days knee deep in bubble wrap, packing tape, boxes and foam peanuts. (If it weren’t for Senritsu’s reminder he would have forgotten to pack _everything_ else for the trip- a suitcase full of changes of clothes, food for a long journey, even his passport, his money and his Hunter license.) 

_Kurapika can’t even **remember** what normal color vision looks like anymore. He can’t remember how long he has been shoveling either, all he knows is that the instant he stops, he’s going to collapse. He doesn’t eat. He doesn’t sleep. Burying a hundred twenty eight bodies takes days. Finally the shovel slips out of his shaking grasp. His entire world has been shattered. His dreams are a scarlet blur. The forest trail from the Kuruta Village to Nancha City is a scarlet blur. The people of Nancha City are a scarlet blur. He remembers the townspeople who still haven’t forgiven him- the ruffians, the little old ladies, even the children- turning their backs on a homeless child with filthy bloodstained clothes and sunken, tear-streaked cheeks._

Two hours loading (and obsessively checking and rechecking) the cargo van. 

Two more driving to the airfield, renting a chartered airship to Nancha City, and watching the pallets disappear into the hold. (Leorio is at the wheel. Kurapika hasn’t slept.) 

Twelve hours in flight, pacing through the cabin like a caged tiger. 

_Nancha City- the closest settlement to Lukso Province, is a six hour Piko ride away from the Kuruta village. Twelve with cargo. Over a week at a walking pace on foot._

Flute? Yeah that only works for three minutes. Hot pepper? Terrible idea. He’s already tried eating so many they practically detonated his stomach. Hugs? Forget it. He shoves Leorio’s face away until he gives up and leaves him alone to wallow in misery in peace. 

_Kurapika **hates** this town. For the likes of a red eyed monster, none of the market stalls are open for business even though Kurapika still has a little money. He is too proud to steal. He will never stoop to **their** level. When hunger belatedly hits him with crippling force, Kurapika is forced to retreat to the forest until- too weak to climb- he can forage enough fallen apples to make the worst of the light-headedness fade. His stomach has been empty for so long he can’t keep it down._

As the others begin to unload the airship, Kurapika uncurls his body, gives up trying to get any rest, and marches straight down the gangplank toward the shipyard piko stables. His friends don’t react fast enough to stop him. 

“How many pikos do you have available for rent for a week?” 

Kurapika is forgetting his manners. He also forgets his contact lenses, and he forgets to give a shit. 

_Mucking out the guano, changing the straw, refilling their food and water troughs, brushing out their loose feathers- aside from the public library, the piko ranch on the outskirts of town is the only constant thread of sanity keeping Kurapika from drowning in his rage. Pikos are better than people. They never fear him. They never judge him. The ranchers merely tolerate him, but Kurapika keep his head down and works hard enough that they give him enough to eat and let him sleep in the straw beside the balding white runt of a hen at the bottom of the pecking order, even- miraculously- after he had to apologize profusely and repair a gaping hole in the wood where a spider web used to be. That made a big dent in his savings. Everything costs too much- extortion payments when he doesn’t feel like causing yet another scene with the local gang of thugs, his sword fighting lessons, his first sewing machine, and enough emergency funds to get the hell out of Nancha City forever. Really, he could thank those thugs for the free training. When he can soundly beat them all at once in a swordfight without even getting close to triggering his scarlet eyes, Kurapika will know he is finally strong enough to take the Hunter exam._

A red eyed monster! A demon in human shape! Half-grown children who can singlehandedly beat up an entire group of adults… The stable hand has been around long enough to know they aren’t just an urban legend. It’s been several years since anyone claimed to see one; why does he have to be this unlucky? The stable hand opens and closes his mouth wordlessly, gesturing toward the back. 

As soon as the stranger catches sight of the birds, his intimidating demeanor evaporates instantly. He reaches out to scratch the lead rooster’s neck feathers; the hens in the neighboring stalls get jealous and coo at him for attention. Brown eyes? It couldn’t have been a trick of his imagination. The stranger works his way one by one down both rows of stables, compelled to pet them all. 

“What are their names?” Kurapika asks, enraptured. “Oh that’s too precious, you’ve given them all little sun hats.” 

No one that affectionate with his animals can be a bad person at heart. The stable hand finds all of his misgivings dissolving like sugar in the rain. “You’re… a local, aren’t you? Those weirdo tourists always spend the first half hour sneezing up a cloud of feathers.” 

“I used to be a stable hand. It was a long time ago.” 

“By pecking order there’s Roland, our lead rooster,” orange with green tail feathers, “and our hens Francisca- the black one, Frou Frou- the one that looks like a walking feather duster, Cocoa – the brown one, Cheep – the butter yellow one, Mallow – the white one with a pea comb, Sugar – the white one with the longer wattles, Honey – the orange one, Polly – the white one with black neck and tail feathers, and Pebbles – the black and white mottled one.” 

“I can see that they’re well behaved and well cared for. You must take pride in your work.” 

“I… thank you.” 

“I would like to rent them all, if they are available.” Seven for baggage, three for riders. Out of the five of them, someone is going to have to double up. 

“That will be ten thousand five hundred Jenny for the week, including fodder, with a 50% payment up front and a one thousand Jenny deposit. Please sign here.” 

“That’s fine.” Wading into the nests of straw, Kurapika helps the stable hand to secure all the straps and ties necessary for loading luggage, surprised how easy the old habits are to fall back into. “Is it alright if I feed them apple slices?” 

“Cheep’s stomach is delicate. She doesn’t do well with apples, but carrot slices are okay. Don’t give any extra treats to Roland. He needs to lose weight.” 

Kurapika’s smile widens. “I’ll make sure he gets enough exercise.” 

“Hah! You like it when they bolt.” 

“You’ve got me in one. Best part of my day.” 

“It’s been a pleasure doing business with you,” the stable hand tells him, and means it. He decides not to tell the other townspeople what he saw. “I enjoy meeting a fellow bird hand. I hope you have a good time while you’re visiting here.” 

“Likewise, thank you.” 

Kurapika finishes tying the bridles together in a caravan by pecking order, then leads them all in a row to his friends and their waiting luggage. 

Gon’s eyes widen with delight. “Wow, cool!” Within minutes he has Roland eating out of his hand and all of the hens clucking at him for attention. 

“What the hell?” Killua looks up at his mount incredulously. “When you said a large bird, I was thinking more chocobo than giant chicken.” He hops aboard Francisca, his arms folded behind his head and leaning his back against her neck like he’s done this a thousand times before. The next thing he does is to snap a selfie with his digital camera. Gon bellyflops onto the saddle beside him, a perfect photobomb for the next shot. 

Senritsu is ruffling Frou Frou’s grey neck feathers, the piko’s eyes invisible behind all the fluff. 

Leorio tries to help Kurapika load all of their suitcases in between bouts of sneezing and rubbing his watery eyes. About five minutes later he gets fed up and fishes a disposable mask out of his briefcase. The loading goes a lot more smoothly after that. (Kurapika, fiercely protective as always, insists on loading up all the boxes full of eyes by himself.) 

“Congratulations Leorio, the stable hand thinks you’re a weirdo tourist.” 

“Says the weirdo expert chicken rider.” 

Kurapika casts a fond, surveying glance across all of his gathered friends. He remembers his first piko ride, a madcap race through the forest with Pairo hot on his tail, both of them clinging to long feathered necks for dear life and shrieking with laughter. “Do you want to come up and ride with me? I don’t think Senritsu will want to listen too closely to my heart most of the time we’re here.” 

“The weirdo expert chicken rider who _also doesn’t want a hug._ ”

Now that he’s gotten the self-pity out of his system, Kurapika can placate Leorio with a spicy kiss on the cheek. “I’m feeling a little better.” For now. 

“Don’t worry about me,” Senritsu answers. “Even in grief, you’ve found joy.” 

“There was nowhere else to find it.” 

Fifteen minutes into the twelve hour journey through the forest, the caravan has to call a halt. Kurapika, the only one who has any idea where they’re supposed to be going, has finally fallen asleep slumped against the downy feathers of Roland’s neck. 

***

He’s here. He’s really here. He feels like a ghost. 

It’s been twelve years: half of his entire life. 

Everything was so _brown_. The day he left, his home was nothing more than rubble and dirt; dry, and charred, and blackened. The last of the wildfires were still smoldering in the distance, stinging his eyes and choking his lungs. He didn’t care. He was too desperate, searching among the wreckage for survivors, signs of life, anything. In the end they didn’t have the decency to leave him a single photograph, a single book, a single cracked teacup to bring with him as a memento. 

Everything is so _green_. The canopy, the undergrowth, the grass growing on the hills, the moss on the shady side of stones, the saplings poking out from the ashes and rubble where the village used to be. How has this place become more verdant than his earliest memories? Birds are singing. Small animals are chittering at each other from their hiding places. The wind rises and falls in a gentle sigh. It’s so, so quiet. All the voices are missing. 

Everything is so _red_. Kurapika is breathless and gasping for air. The caravan behind him meanders to a halt, waiting. The world around him blurs and goes mute. He buries his face in the soft feathers of his mount, trying to stifle his sobs as all the tears streak between his fingers. Leorio’s arms tighten around his waist, his breath a warm breeze in Kurapika’s hair. 

He’s here. But he isn’t _alone_.

That fact makes him simultaneously incredulous and incredibly grateful. Yes, they were welcome, _always_ welcome, but were they sure they wanted to come? He told them so many times- This isn’t going to be some cheerful wake where one sits at a long table catching up with distant relatives, reminiscing about the highlights of a life well lived while loading up a plate full of finger foods. 

When he is capable of moving again, Kurapika commands Roland the lead rooster to bow so he can dismount and start unloading every box from every saddle. He reverently places the contents all in a row on the ground. Bouquets of white lilies. Shovels. A box of disposable gloves. Shrouds in bold colors, stitched with the symbol for Peace in gold. Thirty six pairs of unseeing Scarlet Eyes. Kurapika counts them all again for the hundredth time to make sure none of them have gone missing. The thirty seventh pair- the one with eyelids that can barely stay open and dark circles underneath- is so, so _tired._ He hasn’t even started digging yet. 

Kurapika motions his companions to stand back. He takes a deep breath. The aura around his body begins to glow. 

_Crack_. Whipping his Dowsing Chain in a graceful arc, he shatters the first glass, filling the air with the sickly smell of formaldehyde. He steps closer, letting the chain dangle between his fingers. To whom do these scarlet eyes belong? The pendulum begins to swing, and Kurapika leads the way. 

Here. _The village elder._ Five shovels bite into the earth until they reach a worm-eaten bundle of embroidered blue cloth bundled around a bleached skeleton, arranged as carefully as a traumatized twelve year old could manage at the time. The chains disappear, and Kurapika pulls on a pair of disposable neoprene gloves over his dirt-stained fingernails. Lowering himself into the grave, he carefully navigates around the sharp shards, scoops up the first pair of eyes, then restores them their rightful sockets. A long, heavy minute passes. Finally, he drapes a fresh shroud over the gruesome, lifeless body. He pulls the edges all the way up over the face, taking the place of decayed eyelids that will never close again. Now the grave is ready to be resealed. 

_His mother. His father. He buried them side by side._ He has to admit this would have taken much, much longer if he had to do all the shoveling by himself. _His baby cousin on his mother’s side, the smallest pair of eyes._ After each successive exhumation, it never fails to come as a mild surprise as Kurapika finds himself able- but only just- to climb back out of the grave again. He looks up at the sky, uncomprehending, feels a jarringly pleasant breeze against his cheek, and mechanically resumes pushing dirt aside as if he has forgotten how to do anything else. 

_Pairo, buried between his parents._ He couldn’t bear to look away for a long, long time. All thirty six graves are smooth and flat. Leaning on his shovel for support, Kurapika staggers behind the nearest tree at the edge of the forest to be violently sick before his legs can give out on him completely, far enough away from the graves to avoid desecrating them any more than the filthy collectors have already. Leorio is at his side in an instant, offering hand sanitizer, a bottle of water, a peppermint, and support against falling into a pool of his own vomit. This time he doesn’t bother to push Leorio away, no matter how disgusting he feels. All Kurapika wants to do now is curl up beside his piko and pass out. It would be so easy, if it weren’t for that penetrating chemical smell-

“Please.” It’s the first word he’s croaked out in hours. “The display cases. Smash them, burn them, bury them, I don’t care, just get them _far_ away from here.” 

Naturally Gon, bless his heart, shoves his hands into his pockets and casually punts the entire mess- crates, dirt and all- so far away with a pinky toe worth of his beastly Enhancer nen that it burns up in the atmosphere somewhere. Problem solved. 

“Nice.” A fist bump with Killua. 

The peppermint is beginning to settle his stomach, to make his breath taste a little less like battery acid; in short, to make Kurapika feel a little more human again. He accepts another sip of water. 

“Hey.” Leorio is rubbing circles into his back. “You going to be okay?” 

“Yeah.” Kurapika rasps, then clears his throat. Ew ew ew his voice just _bubbled_. “Thanks.” 

“What do you want to do now?” 

“Sleep.” 

“Do you want to go back to York Shin?” 

“Not yet. I haven’t finished saying goodbye.” 

At last he can give his own eyes a well-deserved rest. From behind him, floating over the graves like an entire bouquet, come the gentle, haunting strains of a flute solo. A weak smile tugs at the corners of his lips. He hopes his cousins are listening. 

***

“Mmm.” Kurapika yawns, stretches, and contemplates going back to sleep. It appears he has been smuggled unawares into the warmth of a sleeping bag, underneath the cheerful yellow dome of a large vinyl tent. Leorio is snoring away to the right of him; Senritsu has her earplugs in to his left. Kurapika grins. He’s _home_ and he’s _done_ and nobody is ever going to take his family away again. He hasn’t felt this _rested_ since Whale Island. 

He has a lot to say to each member of his clan. But first, he really needs a bath and a fresh change of clothes. As he wriggles out of his sleeping bag, gathers up a few belongings and quietly leaves the tent, he spots Killua tending to the fire. 

“I know I’m going to regret asking this, but what exactly is a chocobo?” 

“Get out. You’ve never even heard of the Final Fantasy Series?” 

“This is where I grew up, Killua. Take a good look around you and tell me if you see any power lines.” 

“Damn, and I thought Gon lived under a rock. Watch your back because I’m going to kidnap you for a week and make you marathon FF6 and FF7 back to back. Allu and I will record a Let’s Play channel for you and laugh every time you die.” 

“Not if I bore you to sleep doing all the side quests and use it as my chance to escape.” 

“You underestimate my ability to stay awake for days on end while on a stakeout.” 

“Anyway, I was just about to head for the lake. I’ll see you in a bit.” 

“Ciao.” 

Of _course_ Gon beat him there hours ago. “I see you’ve brought your new fishing rod. Good thinking.” They weren’t planning to get by on boring canned food and crackers for the entire trip. 

“The old one from Ging is stronger but now it’s too small.” 

“I’m pretty sure we never had any lake monsters here, not that I ever tried to catch one.” 

“It’s never too late to try!” 

“Well right now what I’d like to do is wash all this dirt off. I hope you don’t mind.” 

Gon Freecs, wild child of the woods, couldn’t care less about who is prancing around naked around him, especially if it’s a close friend. Animals never have to wear clothes! “It’s up to you, I’m just a guest. Although maybe you could scare some more fish my way if you swim around far enough.”

“I won’t make any guarantees,” Kurapika calls back warmly, modestly ducking behind the reeds until the water is up to his chin. Energized by the frigid plunge, he sets out to swim a lap to the opposite shore and back, for old time’s sake. He floats. A shoal of tiny, curious fish venture forth to nibble at his toes. This feels like drifting through another world, in another life. It’s astonishingly easy, without the metaphorical boulder that was crushing his chest yesterday. 

Upon his return Kurapika scrubs his soiled traveling outfit clean and brushes his teeth with bottled water. This morning he puts on an elegant handmade robe in silken black bordered with red and silver thread. Returning to the campfire to warm up and dry off, he sits down beside Killua and downs the rest of his water. 

“Were you keeping watch?” 

“Yeah, second shift.” 

“I appreciate that.” It makes him feel safer, knowing he can rely on someone else not to let their guard down completely while they’re out in the open. Again, something Kurapika couldn’t have done alone. 

“Gon took third shift because he’s an early riser anyway. Then by the time I woke him up I didn’t feel like going back to sleep.” 

“Ah, so he had a head start. That would explain how we already have pike roasting on a skewer.” 

“It should be almost ready.” 

“Oh good.” Because Kurapika’s stomach is growling. “I’ll put the kettle on. Would you like some tea?” Stainless steel, right next to the fire. 

“Sure.” 

Tea, roasted fish, crackers, trail mix. It makes for a strange breakfast, yet much more leisurely than Kurapika envisioned for this occasion. Kurapika is careful not to get grease on his mourning robes. 

“How are Alluka and Something doing?” It was better this way- too innocent to invite along to watch Kurapika dig up thirty six pairs of graves. 

“I feel so weird about leaving them on their own,” Killua intones with the terror of a mom dropping off their kid on the first day of kindergarten. “Alluka swears everything is going to be fine and that she can take care of herself. I swear she’s made friends with the entire high school.” 

“Have you got smoke coming out of _your_ ears, Killua?” A pajama clad Leorio deposits himself next to Kurapika, draping an arm around his shoulders and stealing a big bite of his fish. 

“Hey. Get your own.” 

“Good morning to you too. Big appetite, huh? I see you’re feeling better.” 

“I feel… peaceful.” Everything he ever hoped for and never imagined he would realistically achieve. “Maybe in my next life I will be a sapling, the child of that tree sprouting from the ruins of my cellar. When the frost hits in October my leaves will turn scarlet, and on my birthday I will greet the spring with scarlet blossoms.” 

“By that logic I’m going to be an aloe vera in my next life. If I’m stuck being a spiky succulent clinging to the dry dirt around my hometown I at least want to keep my healing properties.” 

Senritsu pours herself a mug of tea as Gon returns from the lake with a fresh catch. “In my next life, I’d like to be a lyrebird.” 

“I’m going to be the monster of the lake!” 

“I’m going to be a dragon.” 

If there is any fairness, any balance in the world, Kurapika has used up all of his misfortune for a lifetime and all their next lives are far, far away – thanks to help from the nen exorcist. Agreeing to meet her was probably one of the best decisions he has ever made. 

After breakfast, when everyone is cleaned up and as formally dressed as he is, Kurapika gathers up white lilies by the armful and places them one by one on each grave. Not just the thirty six with scarlet eyes, but nearly a hundred other innocents senselessly slaughtered because they happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. His village. His people. For some he has a few words, for some he has many. Senritsu is listening with her eyes closed, conducting an invisible musical score with a gentle flick of the wrist. It’s all fresh new music to her- his heart, his voice, his language. She savors the sweet rhythm of belonging. 

_“Mother, father, your wayward son has returned at last. If you knew exactly how much trouble I’ve been getting myself into all these years, it would make your hair stand on end. Don’t worry about me too much, because I have some very good, very strong friends looking out for me, and I’m so glad to have met them all. Gon was the first one to make me feel inspired again after a long period of darkness. Killua helped me relearn how to place trust in people. Senritsu was the one who pushed me to take better care of myself. She was the one you heard playing a lovely flute solo yesterday.”_

_”You know how I was so set on leaving the village to find a doctor? Well I’ve finally found him. It may be too late to save Pairo, but Leorio was just in time to save me._ He leans down to the ground with a hand cupped to his mouth, whispering conspiratorially in a voice that makes Senritsu smile. _“He’s the most caring person I’ve met. We’ve been together for six years now. When I’m with him, I feel happy and safe. I’m **home** , mother. Can you believe how lucky I am?”_

“My nose is itching,” Leorio complains after picking out his name from a lot of other words he has no hope of understanding. 

“I wasn’t sure if I had introduced all of you properly to my parents yet, considering that I didn’t have all of their remains gathered with me at the time when I started telling stories about all of you to them. So naturally I had to start over from the beginning. This is where I buried my mother and father.” Kurapika haltingly, quietly begins to recount the memories of his childhood that he has never dared to share with anyone, like treasured secrets locked in his heart for years. “I’ve been told that I resemble my mother- I have her blond hair, her nose, and her heart-shaped face. She was kind, curious, full of energy, and blessed with the patience of a saint. My father had short black hair and a more angular face and nose than mine. He was always the stricter and more cautious one. My poor departed parents, God rest their eyes, thought martial arts lessons were going to burn off all my excess energy, teach me some discipline and keep me out of trouble. They were sadly mistaken.” 

“So you’re telling us you were a pain in the ass as a child?” 

“Oh, I was a nightmarish little tyrant. I was a loud, bossy know it all who asked too many questions. I was prone to temper tantrums. I never followed the rules. It’s amazing I had any friends at all.” 

“Well that’s only natural. Nobody who follows the rules ever becomes a Hunter.” 

_“Elder. I wonder how many times you have seen this before with your own eyes. You didn’t deserve this, and I’m sorry. I’m sorry I always had to be right. I’m sorry for never wanting to listen to you, knowing how many of your words ring true. It must hurt knowing that you’ve had to make so many hard decisions to keep us all safe, and that none of it was enough. I will do my best to pass on as much of your wisdom as I can.”_

“This is the grave of our village elder. He and I never got along because I didn’t agree with his policy to keep the village closed to outsiders, I didn’t like the impossible standards he set for repressing our emotions, and I especially didn’t like how he bullied my best friend Pairo. Still, I couldn’t stay angry with him after all of his worst fears were realized in spite of everything he tried to do to prevent it. He was the first person I needed to forgive.” 

_“Grandmother. I wish I had taken the time to learn all your recipes. Now I’ve lost the chance, and I don’t have any food to offer for your grave. I will try to make up for it next time I visit.”_

“Here is where I buried my grandmother on my mother’s side. I miss the warmth of her smile, and the smell of treats baking in her kitchen.” 

_“Pairo. I miss you so much. It wasn’t supposed to be like this, you were supposed to come and see the world with me. Maybe you and your good sense would have stopped me from spending so long gravitating toward the most terrible places on this planet and the scum who live there at the bottom of the barrel. But there are also people who shine brighter than the sun. They light up your whole life when you meet them, and they can even save you from yourself, just like you did for me.”_

_“I’ll be honest with you. If you ask me if it was fun, and if it was worth it to leave this place- without you, when I didn’t have any other choice- it really wasn’t. Not for a long time. Not until I started to allow myself to have fun again. Not until I reached for help.”_

_“Oh, but I have so many stories for you now! I need to tell you what the Hunter exam was like, and about nen because I know you can keep a secret. It’s like something straight out of a folk tale- the ones where you have to be careful what you wish for because you just might get it. You need to hear about Whale Island, and my first jazz concert, and the brave, charming children I met in the hospital. I’m not done making new stories yet Pairo. I’ll have to keep coming back here until I can tell you all of them.”_

“This is where I buried my best friend Pairo. He saw through my bad attitude and stuck with me anyhow. We were inseparable. He was the common sense for all my harebrained ideas, and the calm for all of my storms. I couldn’t stand to see him get picked on by the other kids. He was small for his age, and shy, and so unassuming he would let everybody walk all over him. It was so unfair. They couldn’t see how clever and bright and funny he was. I’m so angry that the only thing you got to see about him was his head in a jar. Please try not to remember him like that.” 

“He saved me from falling off a cliff once. My carelessness cost him two broken legs, a head injury, and the partial loss of his eyesight. He never healed properly, and he kept getting worse. We didn’t have a doctor in our village, and I wanted to find one for him. Even long after I knew he was dead, it was hard to let go of the guilt and forgive myself. I suppose if he were still alive now I could have taken him to Leorio or tried to use my Holy Chain on him. Too little, too late.” 

“Kurapika, deteriorating eyesight doesn’t sound like the normal result of a fall injury. Did he get any dust in or rocks in his eyes at the time, or any injuries to his face?” 

“The adults in the village rinsed the dust out of his eyes and they couldn’t find any more. Pairo never said it they felt itchy or irritated after that.” 

“I saw evidence of healing fractures on his left tibia and his right femur. The bones didn’t look like they were improperly set. Unless there is an underlying medical condition, fractures typically require a cast or at least a splint for about six weeks, and several more weeks of rehabilitation after that to rebuild atrophied muscles after a period of rest. Was he in a lot of pain?” 

“Only a little. Not too long after his bandages came off he was able to walk for short distances and he was well enough to ride on a piko, but he would get tired quickly.” 

“How did he describe his vision?” 

“Blurry, with a growing dark spot in the middle.” 

“Was he losing weight?” 

“He did seem a bit thin.” 

“Did he frequently suffer from intense hunger or thirst?” 

“Why? I thought that was normal?” 

“Because Pairo likely had undiagnosed Type I Diabetes.” 

Kurapika’s jaw drops. “He needed _insulin_.” It never should have gotten this bad, and no one in this isolated backwater- especially his ignorant smartass eleven year old self- could have known. 

***

 _Singing_. There’s no mistaking it, the lilting minor key is the first thing to capture her attention from the moment she removes her earplugs. The only things she can understand about the language are the poignant blend of love and loss and the way it rhymes. Senritsu advances toward the distant sound, stepping lightly to avoid detracting from it with any noise. 

_I pass the torch to you, dear one_  
_From setting moon to rising sun_  
_Though my wake may leave a hollow_  
_Where I go, don’t try to follow_

Kurapika has his back turned, kneeling and picking clusters of wild fruits into a basket – a delicate lavender color, about the size and round, flattened shape of a cinnamon bun, with an arc of black seeds spiraling outward from the stem. He pauses to finish off first one he picked in one big, juicy bite. The only thing better than pinwheel fruit right off the bush in late summer is his grandmother’s cake, with the floral, vaguely minty jam between the layers and a light purple swirl of preserves over the creamy walnut frosting. He ought to at least leave an offering for his grandmother, even if there isn’t enough to share among dozens of other graves. The rest is breakfast. After all, he really does have to prioritize the living over the dead. 

_Don’t cry your eyes red over me_  
_Because you still need yours to see_  
_Remember, only he is blind_  
_Who wanders with a shuttered mind_  


“Can I help?” 

“ _Senritsu._ ” Kurapika nearly upends the entire basket, face flushed like he’s been caught red handed. “Yes, you can help. Have some pinwheel fruit before I spill them all. Or I cave to my regrettable lack of impulse control and hog them all for myself.” 

“You have a lovely singing voice. It harmonizes so well with your heartbeat.” 

“No, I can’t sing. I hate the sound of my voice. I had to delete everything I tried to record because it sounded horrible the instant I played it back.” 

“Kurapika, _everyone_ hates the sound of their own voice on a recording, especially from a low quality computer microphone. You’re going to need better equipment for that.” 

“I’ll take your word for it,” Kurapika evades in the tone of voice that means he’s going to put it off for the foreseeable future. 

Nope. Senritsu isn’t going to let him get away with it until he sings through his entire repertoire for all of his friends- alive and dead- gathered around the campfire. Soon he’s glad he did. It only takes about two songs for Kurapika to remember how much his hands are itching for the piano keys, and how only his voice knows all of the words. 

After all, who else is going to do it? 

There’s a folk song for picking acorns from a tree, another for a spiraling field of flowers, and the fish in the lake. There’s an instantly catchy drinking song he wasn’t supposed to be old enough to know, and a dance tune about all the colors of eyes, each one more beautiful than the last. Naturally several of the songs are about love in its various forms. Kurapika could take or leave the ones about beautiful girls named after flowers and herbs, their long, flowing curls, their narrow waists and their cherry red lips. The one about the tall, dark soldier is much more interesting. So is another with lyrics Kurapika always thought were sad until he looks Leorio directly in the eye and sings: _I fell off my mount and broke my hand / now how am I supposed to hug you?_ That fate doesn’t sound like suffering at all, if it means he gets to see Leorio’s tender love and care in his white doctor’s coat again. 

Senritsu lifts up her flute. “I’d love to play accompaniment if you’re willing to sing through some of them again.” 

How can he refuse? The second time around, it sounds so good against Senritsu’s background of playful harmony, the merry crackle of the campfire, and the insistent beat of Gon, Killua and Leorio clapping along to the rhythm that Kurapika is convinced she has enchanted the entire village. 

***

“Psst. Gon, Killua. A million Jenny says I leave both your asses a mile behind on the way back to the stables.” 

“No fair! You have a head start!”

“What’s that? I can’t hear your excuses over the sound of you eating my dust!” 

Let them go wild, they all have too much childhood to make up for. Senritsu laughs to herself, watching the lead pikos take off like rockets with all the luggage carriers flapping and squawking in their wake. As her own piko picks up speed and the smell of home, she hangs onto her hat with one hand and her mount’s saddle horn with the other. 

“Help! Help! I’m being abducted!” Leorio yelps at Kurapika’s back, desperately trying not to fall off. “Holy _shit_ Kurapika, is _this_ why you’re such an aggressive driver?" 

Galloping full speed between the trees, eyes blazing scarlet, Kurapika throws his head back and cackles like a cartoon villain at the top of his lungs. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SO WHO WANTS TO LISTEN TO FOLK SONGS IN AN OBSCURE LANGUAGE WITH ME!? I'm Hungarian, and these were the songs that definitely popped into my head in this chapter:
> 
> [Madarka, madarka](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=K649bH4xpyk)  
> [Az a szep akinek a szeme kek](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vcSKDVoQErg)  
> [Piros kancso, piros bor](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WCInnnMMRkg)  
> [A csitari hegyek alatt](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eBbXrr1bTEs)
> 
> Lol and for those of you who are following me down the rabbit hole here are some techno Hungarian folk songs (because Hungarian folk songs are obscure enough that Yotube is really hit and miss. There's often terrible cheesy versions from the 80s and techno and nothing in between):  
> [Mar mi nalunk, babam](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2BLOjT0jBIs)  
> [Vorosbort ittam az este](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WntYjnSNfcY)  
> [Vekony hejja van a piros almanak](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PPzeKehrCw8)
> 
> Are you bored of my musical recommendations yet? :'D  
> If not, do yourself a favor and listen to some [Balogh Kalman](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=l0lVEsGs-ns&list=PLvAutSSqPgdb6rPTa-Uek9Uh8Z3gk543D&index=3). This was the BEST song to wake up to in Hungarian dance camp in 2002. Ah, memories.


	7. Nancha City Shopping Center

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Who's ready for some DOMESTIC FLUFF?

Returning to York Shin City doesn’t feel like home, even with Leorio right there in Kurapika’s apartment. Kurapika’s fridge is empty, so they order pizza because it’s quick and easy. Without the keyboard and the musical scores, his living room feels empty too. So does his second bedroom- it doesn’t feel right moving Leorio’s boxes out of the way from where they sit cluttering up the master bedroom to the shelves where all the glass cases of eyes used to be. He doesn’t even feel like unpacking his clothing from his suitcase. 

“Leorio, I don’t want to live here anymore. It’s going to be hard to leave Senritsu, and her band mates, and the nice volunteers and children and the healthcare workers trying their hardest at the hospital, and Doctor Barbadens, but I never want to see the mafia again if I can help it.” 

“I hear you. I’m tired of dealing with corruption and penny pinching and insurance companies trying to wheedle my patients out of every Jenny.” 

“Have you decided where you want to do your next year in residence yet?” 

“No, I wanted to take a break and go visit my folks before I start applying anywhere. Want to come with me?”

“That sounds nice. I think I… actually need a real vacation.” He’s been through so much. It’s finally time to slow down and take a deep breath. “What would you say to making a bigger trip of it? There are also some others I’d like to see, now that I have far more free time on my hands than I know what to do with. Killua would like me to come and visit him and Alluka, and Gon wants me to meet some friends in his research team.” 

“Sure, we’ve got plenty of time.” It’s amazing how conquering Zobae Disease and making piles of cash while doing it makes everything else look easy now. 

This pizza just isn’t cutting it. What Kurapika craves are pinwheel fruit, freshly caught fish, apples cheerfully speared onto his swords and roasted over the open fire, toasted fiddleheads and mushrooms. “After that, I want to learn how to make _proper_ comfort food even if I have to eat charcoal for a month.” 

“Wow Kurapika, that actually sounds like a normal goal for once.” 

“Except I can’t learn it from my mother or my grandmother…”

“You’re a Hunter, Kurapika. You already have all the skills to get the information you need.” 

“You’re right, but I can’t do this alone.” Leorio can already see the gears turning in his head. “When it comes to cooking, I don’t have the training, practice and experience to know what I need to look for yet. Nancha City would be my most logical base of operations. If I’m lucky, there may have been some crossover in recipes and literature, hiding in the depths of someone’s kitchen drawers. If I’m unlucky… Leorio, they _hate_ me. I scraped together a living in Nancha City for five years, when I didn’t have anywhere else to go. You haven’t forgotten how rude, aggressive and defensive I was when we first met, have you?” 

“Water under the bridge, Kurapika.” 

“Before I met Gon, that was my _good_ side.” 

“…Oh.” 

“Yes, ‘oh’. Someone is bound to remember the hotheaded twelve year old who beat the shit out of a small gang of fully grown thugs. They called me a red eyed monster and made it clear I was unwelcome. It didn’t take very long until I _believed_ them, Leorio. I was a _child_ , and it hurt. I’m tired of contact lenses. I’m tired of hiding. What’s the point, if I’m doomed to spend the rest of my life beating off assassination attempts with a stick anyway? I want to change their image of my people and be remembered for something I can be proud of.” 

Leorio is glad Kurapika isn’t talking about Meteor City yet, but geeze, this guy never takes the easy way out. “Shh. C’mere. You are _not_ a monster, Kurapika. You get angry because you care. You helped me save a lot of people back there in the Kakin Port City.” 

“They don’t know that. They don’t know _me_.”

“Have you forgiven them?” 

Pairo already forgave them before they even remounted their pikos. Always the wiser one, his best friend. Kurapika thinks about it for a moment before letting go of the tension in his shoulders. “Yes. It’s so trivial in hindsight compared to everything else, I don’t know why I even remember it was such a big deal at the time. I would have been scared too, if I put myself in their shoes.” 

“Then that settles it. Let’s move to Nancha City. I’ll apply for my next residency there. We’re going to take the place by storm, Kurapika. You’ll get them sorted out, I know it.” 

“But first, I’m going to stop procrastinating and publish those books I’ve been sitting on.” The fourth book he wants to write will be a book of recipes. 

***

The trip to Leorio’s country is totally new for Kurapika and a fresh perspective for Leorio. Now he has money! They visit all kinds of places with Leorio’s family where Leorio and his younger siblings couldn’t afford to go before, as if seeing their own home for the first time. Kurapika ends up with a lot of new photos- at the desert cactus botanical garden, at the natural history museum, and riding rented giant dogs up the side of the mountain at a gentle plod in the scorching heat. In the end they cool off at the water park, tubing along a lazy river ride and zooming down giant looping water slides from an intimidating height. Now _that’s_ the kind of fun he should have been having with Pairo all along. Kurapika goes through a lot of sunscreen. 

Next, in a budding eco-tourism business in the middle of nowhere, Gon takes Kurapika and Leorio zip lining through the canopy of a forest. Kurapika finally gets to meet Kite, Kite’s research team, Colt and his little sister Reina- even more contacts to add to his phone. The conversation is lively and interesting. Kurapika learns a lot about animals and ecology and magical beasts that he never even thought to ask. 

At Killua’s house, he and Alluka don’t follow through on the threat to kidnap Kurapika until he plays all the way through any of the Final Fantasy games because there are too many people to be sitting around watching him play, but they do show him what a chocobo looks like, along with its famous theme song. After failing badly at Kirby Air Ride vying for last place with Leorio, he feels much better after Killua takes them to a real go kart track and Kurapika the tire screeching speed demon beats them all by half a second. 

Then Ikalgo invites them along to a metal concert, where there’s no way Killua is going to let Leorio show up in a suit and tie. Leorio’s ‘I’m with the band’ disguise serves the purpose of looking dressed down well enough, but that still leaves the problem of what Kurapika is supposed to wear when all he brought with him is traditional Kuruta garb. He ends up borrowing a plain black tank top from Killua, and a pair of artfully torn skinny jeans that are too long for him. He isn’t going to put a hem in Killua’s jeans, so Kurapika just has to get creative with the folding and hope that it stays that way. 

There are violins and a drum set, and that’s where the similarity to classical music ends. Catching up on small talk with Ikalgo requires a combination of shouting and sign language; this venue would be far too loud for Senritsu and her sensitive hearing. Leorio gets a little drunk and plays air guitar. Kurapika had no idea he was going to like it until he’s crowd surfing next to Something while they both scream along to a half incomprehensible, unexpectedly melodic chorus about death and pain and blood. It’s as cathartic as smashing glass to smithereens in Doctor Barbadens’ office. The crowd is so supportive and friendly, all Kurapika gets in response to the red glow of his eyes- sorry not sorry- are horn shaped hand gestures flashed in his general direction from all sides. Killua buys yet another band T-shirt and gets it autographed. 

Last of all, packing up a sparse set of belongings from his apartment and getting rid of the rest, Kurapika decides he is going to leave York Shin City in style. He plays one last jam session at Senritsu’s place, then together with Leorio they all go out to see West Side Story. It makes Kurapika feel better about crying his eyes scarlet at the end when he sees Leorio crying right beside him. 

***

“I have a business proposition for you.” 

To even get Menchi to take time out of her schedule to meet him, Kurapika had to turn a blind eye to the outrageous prices on the dinner menu. 

“Hey, I remember you. Aren’t you one of those philistines who could barely boil an egg?” 

“I was traumatized, Menchi. You could have put a slice of grandmother’s pinwheel cake right in front of my nose and it only would have made me upset.” 

“I bet you still would have eaten it though.” 

“No because it doesn’t _exist_ and anyone who could have taught me how to make it is dead.” 

“Aha! Now you’re speaking my language. Do you remember what ingredients your grandmother used?” 

“Pinwheel fruit preserves are a must out of season. I’m sure there must have been acorn flour and piko egg in the cake layers somewhere. Those were staples in our pantry. Sugar was pretty hard to come by without a risky two to three day round trip into town, so we would have used honey. Other than that, I wish I knew.” 

“So tell me about this business proposition of yours.” 

“I need help learning how to make Kuruta cuisine. My goal is to save as many of my people’s recipes as possible from extinction. Even if I never have enough talent to cook them all myself, I want _someone_ to be able to cook them, and be able to make it taste right. Then I plan to publish a recipe book from the results. I don’t really care if I get any proceeds on it. Feel free to negotiate whatever cut you feel is fair. We can even publish it under your name- it would have a lot more credibility that way. We can negotiate a down payment as compensation for dealing with my utter lack of skill in the kitchen.” 

“Come back to me after you’ve taken some cooking classes and done your research. I don’t have the patience to coach someone who can’t even put together a pot of soup.” 

“I was hoping that I would be able to learn faster if I learned from the best, but your point is valid.” Progress! Kurapika was expecting an outright rejection. “I will get started right away.” 

***

For someone who thinks everyone is going to hate him, Kurapika sure is enthusiastic about moving. He and Leorio agree on the top apartment in a three storey low rise building with a little shared garden on the rooftop and stable space on the ground floor just by the entrance. Leorio hauls in all of his medical textbooks. Kurapika packs lightly, bringing only his sewing machine and supplies, his laptop, his own personal music scores and his painting from Doctor Barbadens. 

Nancha City is tiny compared to York Shin; it barely even qualifies as a town. Everything is within walking distance, but Kurapika insists on buying a piko anyway because he’s always wanted one, and he’s definitely going to need a ride into the Kuruta Village again at some point while he’s here. Then of course he’s going to need a saddle, and a luggage harness, and a grooming brush, rubber boots, an apron, a broom and dustpan, and a fresh bale of hay and bags of feed every week. 

“Yeah sure, you deserve an emotional support chicken. Knock yourself out.” 

“I’m going to name her Truffles.” Kurapika’s new hen piko is a glossy midnight black, and oh so fluffy. One of the very first things he does after they move in is to sew a cape and a matching headscarf for her, out of the same yellow fabric with black polka dots that he used to match Leorio’s favorite necktie. Next he sews a large, soft blanket for her to ward off the nighttime chill. This has to be the cutest thing Leorio has ever seen. 

He’s right though. People stare at Kurapika wherever he goes, whispering nervously to each other. As long as Leorio is holding Kurapika’s hand, he’s either acting oblivious on purpose or he’s too content to care. After they go out furniture shopping together, Kurapika makes a side trip to the music store to buy his very own piano. Oh why the hell not, he can afford it and it sounds better than an electronic keyboard. Leorio is happy he’ll get to hear Kurapika play more often. 

The local mini wannabe mafia thinks he’s safer to ambush when he’s alone. This shit again. Kurapika can’t decide whether to laugh or sigh. Yeah, he’s definitely forgiven them ages ago; these small fry are not worth his time. “Gentlemen. Can I help you?” He thinks he can recognize some of the scarred faces; they haven’t aged well. 

“A little birdie told us the red eyed monster was back in town.” 

“Is that so?” Kurapika casually hefts his packing crate full of piano onto his left shoulder. Passersby stop in their tracks and gape. “News travels fast.” 

“You haven’t paid the fee to move back to Nancha City. A million Jenny.” Points for bravery, he’ll give them that. 

“How about we make it ten million if you go into retirement and stop harassing the locals from now on?” 

Now the leader breaks into a sweat and huddles into a conference with the other thugs. One million was supposed to be an outrageous amount that he could never afford, and now he upped the offer by ten times, cool as a cucumber, like it’s nothing!? But wait. If ten million is just a drop in the bucket to this guy, how much can they milk him for? 

“Gee,” says the leader, his eyes glinting with greed and malice. “Make it twenty, and that’s almost as much as the Ryodan offered us for selling out the directions to your precious demon village.” 

_They’re lying._ The Ryodan never pays for anything they can just as easily steal for free. If any of these chumps had any useful information to begin with, the Ryodan would have tortured it out of them, then killed them on the spot. 

“The deal is off,” Kurapika responds icily, leaping over all of their heads and the combined breadth of the crowd of spectators from a single standing jump, piano and all. He can sense the volley of rocks lobbed with mostly terrible aim toward the back of his head. Kurapika blocks the more accurate ones with a shield of Ten. The force isn’t strong enough that he has to worry about them breaking the packing crate containing his new piano. 

When he turns around slowly to face the onlookers, his eyes are still brown- he _refuses_ to let their taunting win- but now they are weary and incredibly sad. It doesn’t matter if any of these people really did sell out the whereabouts of the Kuruta village. It doesn’t matter who started the rumor of the red eyed monsters, and their rare beauty that reached the ears of rich collectors. What’s done is done. “You have collectively orphaned me, all of you. Is that not enough? Look in the mirror before you tell me I’m the monster, and ask yourselves who forced my hand. I’m done. I forgive you. Just leave me in peace.” A hush falls over the crowd. This time he walks away slowly, without ever looking back. 

*

“Welcome home, Kurapika!” Leorio has no idea how much those simple words fill up Kurapika’s soul with buoyant warmth, like a hot air balloon in his heart. “You’re just in time! I… uh. Think I’m going to need some help here.” 

Day. Made. The partially assembled explosion of plywood and screws that’s supposed to magically transform into a do-it-yourself bookshelf looks like something out of an Escher painting. Instead of lending a hand, Kurapika gently sets down the piano crate, then laughs until his sides hurt. He needs to snap a photo for posterity. 

“Leorio, I want to marry you. There isn’t a shadow of a doubt left in my mind. I want to hear you say welcome home every day for the rest of my life.” 

“Damn, and I haven’t even set up the box spring yet.” 

***

Kurapika stares at the course description, intimidated. All of the recipes they’re supposed to teach look hard? He almost types ‘recipes only an idiot could mess up’ into the search bar, then deletes it and replaces it with ‘recipes for children’. The results only make him feel slightly better about himself. Let’s see here… sandwiches? Even he isn’t _that_ incompetent. Pizza bread? No thanks. No bake cookies? The photo doesn’t really appeal to him. How about breakfast? Yogurt, granola, fresh berries, maybe a drizzle of honey. Hmm, he would eat that. All he has to do is layer it in a glass to make it look fancy. 

*

“Wow, you made me breakfast Kurapika? This looks way classier than cereal.” 

“It’s _sour_.” Where did Kurapika go wrong? He measured out the ingredients in exactly the proportions the recipe called for. Were the berries unripe? Was the granola supposed to be sweeter? What’s the difference between vanilla yogurt, regular plain yogurt, low fat yogurt, fat free yogurt and Greek yogurt? Pairo would know. Kurapika spent an embarrassing amount of time standing there reading all the labels in the dairy aisle of the supermarket, paralyzed by indecision. 

“Hey let me at least try it before you do a dramatic face plant on the kitchen table.” 

“I messed up on a recipe for _children_.”

“What are you talking about? It tastes fine to me, it just needs a little more honey.” 

“Really?” 

It _does_ taste better with another spoonful of honey, especially if he doesn’t mix it all together. 

“You’re adorable, you know that?” Leorio plants a kiss on his lips before he gets up to wash the dishes. “Thanks for breakfast.” 

***

Every morning, Kurapika takes Truffles out for some fresh air and exercise, running along beside her while keeping up his Ren. He and Leorio have more time for a leisurely ride through the woods on Leorio’s days off. Then while Leorio spends his usual long, erratic hours in residence at the clinic, Kurapika puts serious effort into his mission to learn how to cook. He tries his hand at new recipes for beginners every day: a salad, a simple pasta dish, roasted vegetables that bake at a glacial pace because he keeps obsessively opening the oven door trying to check if they’re done yet. 

Kurapika was going to sew himself an apron with the Kuruta symbol for Home stitched on, but then Leorio was so earnest and flirtatious about gifting him one emblazoned with ‘Kiss The Chef’ that now Kurapika wears it all the time. Not quite up to the same level of ‘I wouldn’t be caught dead without this accessory’ as his ruby earring and the plain gold engagement ring on his left hand, but close enough for Leorio to tease him about it. 

It takes a lot of trial and error before Kurapika graduates to cooking rice without burning it, or making it too dry, or letting the pot boil over. Gradually, he builds the confidence to season and pan sear a filet of fish, then to put together a simple stir fry. The oven is his enemy: anytime he makes an attempt at any sort of baked goods, it _never_ comes out the same way as the recipe even when he follows the instructions to the letter. He can’t stop trying. Kurapika has to make _something _with the massive egg Truffles lays in her nest every day, or else it will go to waste. Too sweet? Cooks too fast? Doesn’t cook fast enough, but then after the last five minutes Kurapika added to the time, it comes out burnt on the bottom? _Why_ does this keep happening? Leorio shrugs and devours a slightly charred cookie. __

“I am so, _so_ glad you aren’t picky.” 

“I can taste the love,” says Leorio with a wink. 

Kurapika’s cheeks redden, pleased. 

Most of the time Kurapika is the one to welcome Leorio home, instead of the reverse. Kurapika tries to time his piano practices so that Leorio can listen to him playing, at least for a little while. He needs to get back into learning how to play Pictures at an Exhibition. Whenever he has the opportunity, Leorio joins him in the kitchen because it’s a bit of a disaster that he never learned how to cook either. Like everything else, the chopping and peeling is a lot more enjoyable in his company. 

“Hey Kurapika, let’s make chicken soup. I figure that ought to be the bare minimum qualification for me as a doctor.” 

“Good idea. Then I’ll know what to make if you ever get sick.” 

It isn’t the taste of nostalgia he’s been looking for, but it’s warm, it’s satisfying, and it wasn’t even that hard to make. Kurapika thinks he can taste the love too. He finally applies for that cooking class, and by the time the lessons are finished he can barely remember why he was so apprehensive about it. 

***

It’s time to do what Kurapika does best: gather intel. He opens a new file on his laptop and begins to write. First step: what does he already know? 

There are ingredients he can remember eating or foraging: 

1\. Acorn flour  
2\. Apples  
3\. Applewood (smoke)  
4\. Chives  
5\. Duck  
6\. Fiddleheads  
7\. Freshwater fish (pike, bass, walleye)  
8\. Ginger  
9\. Honey  
10\. Mushrooms  
11\. Pheasant  
12\. Piko eggs  
13\. Pinwheel blossoms  
14\. Pinwheel fruit  
15\. Spiral cabbage  
16\. Venison  
17\. Walnuts  
18\. Wild garlic

And the start of a long list of all the meals he remembered his mother and grandmother cooking:

1\. Applewood smoked pike  
2\. Acorn flour pancakes  
a. Savory – with wild garlic or chives  
b. Sweet – with honey, chopped apples, or pinwheel blossom syrup  
3\. Duck or pheasant with acorn-walnut-apple stuffing  
4\. Pinwheel blossom cake  
5\. Pinwheel blossom jam  
6\. Spiral cabbage and mushroom stew  
7\. Walnut encrusted fish with mushroom sauce

Kurapika doesn’t even make it to ten before he feels intimidated all over again. It was hard enough learning from recipes with readily available ingredients- now he has to hunt down the ingredients they don’t sell in the outdoor market or the department store. Fiddleheads are out of season. Duck isn’t easy to buy here; pheasant is impossible. When he asked around for acorn flour in the Nancha City outdoor market, the farmers all looked at him like he was crazy. He’s probably going to have to venture into the forest, pick all the acorns, shell and grind them himself. Likewise for spiral cabbage – nobody here has any idea what he’s talking about. Pinwheel fruit got him some equally blank looks, and it’s a crying shame. And their selection of mushrooms is pitiful.

Second step: Google Kuruta recipes. 

Third step: Find nothing. Disappointed, but not surprised.

Fourth step: Strike a deal with the local gang of thugs and their network of angry old ladies to keep an ear out for information for him. The thing Pairo didn’t know back when he threatened to call the police was that there _are_ no police- there’s the Neighborhood Watch, and they really hate anyone they consider to be a foreigner. (Except Leorio apparently- he’s too pure.) They may cause trouble, but they keep the peace in their own way, for a fee. 

God, what an awkward conversation. This is _so_ not one of his mafia techniques, but he’s pretty sure interrogation and deception were going to fall flat after intimidation didn’t go over very well. Fine, he’s sorry for beating them up when he was twelve okay? He can’t blame someone for holding a long grudge, it would be calling the kettle black. Was he trying too hard with the apology cookies? He had extra… 

It must have worked, because the townsfolk stop staring at him when he’s out for groceries after that. Kurapika timidly ventures back into the Nancha City Public Library for the first time in seven years, where he once saw a spider and was so ashamed of the damage he caused to his favorite place in the entire town that he decided it was time to leave. Long after his debt was repaid, he kept sending back anonymous donations here and there out of his clean money whenever it came to his mind over the years, to assuage his guilt. He locks eyes with the librarian. Oh shit, she _definitely_ remembers him. 

She… smiles? “Ah, our most avid reader. Welcome back. Do you still have your library card, Kurapika?” 

After what he did, _that’s_ how she remembers him. Kurapika is so humbled he feels like a small child shrinking behind his desk at the back of the class. “No, Miss Heron. It’s no longer valid, I changed residences a lot.” 

“No worries, we’ll get you a new one. What kind of books can I recommend for you today?” 

“I’ve been getting into cooking lately. Can you recommend any recipe books by authors from this region?” 

“How wonderful! I know just the thing.” 

Fifth step: Look for _similar_ recipes. 

1\. Smoked fish: he doesn’t have the equipment.  
2\. Green onion pancakes: looks doable, if he can substitute acorn flour without messing it up.  
3\. Roast chicken with stuffing: Probably harder than it looks. The oven is his enemy.  
4\. Strawberry cake.

Wait… but his mother definitely never had any baking soda or baking powder on hand. How is it supposed to become moist and fluffy? What happens if he substitutes acorn flour instead of wheat flour?

5\. Strawberry jam.

Oh god, making jam is going to take _forever_ , and he has to keep an eye on it to make sure it doesn’t burn or run out of water too early.

Sixth step: Just pick something already. 

Seventh step: Experiment. 

Eighth step: Fail spectacularly. 

If he counts foraging for acorns, he’s been trying to cook acorn flour pancakes for _four days_. Hand milling them into flour was also a long, painful process. The acorns were so rock hard and annoying he had to cheat by applying Enhancer techniques to the nutcracker _and_ the mortar and pestle. He couldn’t even use his food processor for fear of breaking it. Then he discovered the hard way that only the _top_ half of acorns is good for grinding into flour, while the bottom half is bitter and tastes like soap, and he had to dump out the entire batch, harvest three times as many acorns and start all over again. No wonder his mother was always spending so many hours in the kitchen while she sent him out foraging. Traditional Kuruta cooking, without modern conveniences like grocery stores and refrigerators, is highly labor intensive. 

Leorio comes home to the sight of Kurapika- scarlet eyed, frustrated and close to tears- in the eye of a hurricane of acorn flour, drips of batter, chopped onions, garlic and mushrooms, and a growing stack of half torn, half burned, half raw pancakes. He tried to substitute ground walnuts in the first batch, and the texture was grainy and _terrible_. Almond flour worked better for texture in the second batch. Edible, but without the right nutty taste. Toasting the almond flour for the third batch was an improvement; trying to toast almonds _then_ grind them resulted in an unusable paste. The fourth batch- made with genuine acorn flour- was too runny and burned too fast, the fifth had too much salt, and the sixth batch was too dense and gummy and thick. So much _waste_.

“Hey. I’ll handle the cleanup, alright? You look like you could use some rest.” 

Ninth step: Refuse to give up. Repeat from step six. 

Perfectionism is _probably_ not going to kill Kurapika, but it might come close. Which is why when Kurapika won’t budge, Leorio bodily carries him out of the kitchen and Kisses The Chef. 

***

“I’m ready.” 

“Show me what you can do.” 

Yeah, no pressure. Kurapika is only cooking for the fussiest judge in the Hunter exam. 

Before Menchi arrived, Kurapika already spent the better part of two hours milling his foraged acorns into a bowl. Kurapika whisks salt, garlic and chopped chives into the acorn flour. Next, he separates the piko egg yolk from the white and whips it into a stiff froth before carefully stirring in the yolk. He stirs the acorn flour into the egg mixture, little by little, until the batter reaches the right consistency. Spooning the batter into a pan by the ladleful, he fries individual pancakes in sizzling duck fat until they are golden brown on both sides. Kurapika fishes the finished pancakes out with a pair of tongs and transfers them to a cooling rack for the excess fat to drip off. He covers the bowl of remaining batter with a lid and sets it in the fridge for later- better stored this way than making more pancakes than they can eat now and ending up with cold, soggy leftovers. 

At the kitchen table, he serves up the pancakes with a generous dollop of mushroom sauce. Two for Menchi, two for Leorio, two for himself. Kurapika collapses into his seat, exhausted. 

“Your plating skills could use some work,” Menchi critiques before raising her chopsticks to her mouth. 

Kurapika holds his breath. He prays to whichever deity happens to be listening. 

Menchi’s eyebrows shoot up. Heavier fare than she usually prefers, but it’s _delicious_. The unique combination of ingredients make this dish truly different from any other she has ever tried. The taste is earthy, rich and savory; crispy on the outside, fluffy on the inside, meant to be eaten quickly before the sauce makes it soggy. More than that- the pancakes picked up a hint of his aura, an unmistakable sign of hard work and devotion. And she thought he was totally hopeless! “You pass. Let’s talk terms and conditions.” 

Across from Menchi, Leorio takes one bite and utters a faint whimper of pure bliss, his hand flying to his mouth a moment too late to make the sound any less obscene. Menchi allows a knowing smirk to replace the cool air of judgement on her face. Kurapika’s face heats up all the way to his ears. 

***

Kurapika’s bottomless thirst for knowledge gets along _really_ well with Menchi’s ego. 

“I can’t always get my hands on acorn flour, and I’ve been struggling to find a good substitute. Can you tell me what I did wrong with this batch?” 

“I can see where you were trying to go with this. Actually, walnut flour would have worked as a good substitution, but you didn’t grind it fine enough. You’re going to need a better food processor. Be careful not to overdo it because you will end up with a paste. If you want to experiment with the flavors a bit more, try toasting the walnuts before you process them.” 

“I’ll have to try that next time. How about a substitute for fiddleheads when they are out of season?” 

“Well, it isn’t really a _good_ substitute for flavor, but for a similar texture you could try asparagus or broccolini. Don’t overcook it into mush.” 

“Alright here’s another one. How about a substitute for piko egg? I could use five or six chicken or duck eggs, but I can’t quite get the flavor right.” 

“It depends whether you’re going for a sweet or a savory recipe. You could add a little sheep’s milk cheese, for salt and tang. Goat cheese, if you’re in a pinch.” 

“Thanks, that’s really useful. Now could you explain why I never seem to get the timing right whenever I try to bake anything in the oven?” 

“Every oven in every kitchen is different. Baking always has an element of surprise- you just have to know when it’s done by look and texture and adjust the recipes accordingly. Never put blind faith in the cooking time you see on a recipe. Get yourself an oven thermometer and check if it’s _really_ heating up to the temperature it says it is. Also, you should leave the oven on for ten minutes after it beeps that it’s preheated before you put anything inside. It takes longer for the walls of the oven to heat to temperature than it does for the air inside, and some of that air will escape as soon as you open the door.” 

“Hold on, let me get all of this down in my notes.” 

***

Kurapika’s strong opinions, on the other hand…

“Sesame.” 

“Go on.” 

“It’s used in Kakin style noodle soup, the outside of some types of bread, zaatar spice mix, and sesame crackers.” 

“Good.” Menchi holds up another spice jar to Kurapika’s nose. 

Wait, he _knows_ this one. _A pot full of simmering duck soup, that extra hint of fragrance beyond the flavor of chives and garlic and mushroom. It tinges the broth a pleasant shade of yellow._ “Uh… soup tree.” 

“Wrong! It’s a bay leaf, idiot.” 

“So shoot me, I couldn’t remember the word in Hunter Language. It’s not _wrong_ , it’s a literal translation.” 

“Oh yeah? You didn’t finish.” 

Kurapika sighs, his patience fraying. “It’s used in soup, obviously. And some stews and curries. Can I take off this blindfold yet?” 

“Next sample.” Menchi ignores him. 

“Cinnamon. And I don’t care _how_ well you think it suits the flavor profile, cinnamon does _not_ belong in the apple ginger sauce for my honey pancakes. I _will_ fight you on this.” 

“Bullshit. I still can’t believe you were so deprived you grew up without cinnamon. You should be rejoicing at adding new flavors in your life.” 

“But not in my _traditional_ recipes.” 

“Leorio, tell me I’m right.” 

“Don’t you dare turn my fiancée against me.” 

“You’re _both_ against me,” complains Leorio. “If I don’t watch it, the two of you are going to add fifteen pounds to my waistline.” 

Both bickering, stubborn personalities instantly soften at the compliment. 

“A perfectly reasonable worry, considering that I may beat you to that dubious achievement.” Kurapika has noticed the ridges of his ribs gradually vanishing in the bathroom mirror after a shower. A bright, fresh baby face he can barely remember is looking back at him where- too often- there used to be well defined cheekbones and dark circles under his eyes. 

“You needed the calories, Kurapika. I’m glad you can’t stab me with your elbows anymore.” 

***

Leorio has a sneaking suspicion Kurapika likes pointing at big maps spread out on a table because it makes him look smart and important and adventurous. And dramatic. Let’s not forget dramatic. He smiles fondly to himself, watching Kurapika explain the convoluted easterly route through the forest, along a canyon, and by the river to find the way from Nancha City to the heart of Lukso Province. 

Menchi nods with understanding and interest, occasionally asking about key landmarks for a further explanation. “Was your hometown the only village in Lukso Province?” 

“No, there are other small villages to the north and east of the Kuruta Village. Mimmin Village here, and Persa here, upriver by the mountain pass. I haven’t been there myself. They would have been even more difficult to access by piko from the Kuruta Village, but they’re much closer to some larger towns on the coast, so they aren’t as remote. I’ve exhausted my information sources here in Nancha City, so these villages and the coastal towns might hold our next clue.” 

“I bet those people could use some house calls.” 

“I’m sure your skills would be welcome, Leorio. Non-perishable foods and supplies would also go a long way to win us favor with the locals in the dead of winter. We can trade them in exchange for hospitality and the information we are looking for.” 

“I’d still like to see the Kuruta Village to find out more about the crops, flora and wildlife.” 

“In the spring, of course. There isn’t much to see when anything we would normally forage is buried under a layer of ice and snow.” 

“No reason we can’t take the scenic route then. There may be other hidden settlements along the way that didn’t make it onto the topological map.” 

“Good plan. We can start by heading north and skirting around the edge of forest, then we can cut across to Mimmin in an easterly direction.” 

***

That winter, Kurapika acquires a sweet haul of pinwheel jam, _two_ new cake recipes to try, and at least ten different grandmothers who are so happy to get unexpected visitors in the middle of nowhere that they also want to adopt him. Leorio can tell something mouth-watering is going to come out of their travels by the way Kurapika and Menchi’s faces light up at the same time. But it comes as a total surprise when Kurapika give Menchi a week off, sneaks out of his way to swap recipes with Leorio’s mom and whips up a light, creamy coconut, tapioca and rice flour layer cake for Leorio’s twenty-seventh birthday. One slice later they wind up making out under the kitchen table.

When spring rolls back around, Kurapika retraces his steps to the Kuruta village and sits in front of Pairo’s grave telling him about Leorio’s family and the folk metal concert while Menchi wanders off to explore. For the rest of the day they plan to rest up from their travels, then Kurapika will start showing Menchi all of his favorite foraging spots in the morning. This time Leorio had to stay back at the clinic in Nancha City- there was nobody left in this area to justify taking his work with him. 

Just as he’s about to start gathering firewood, his cell phone rings. Since when does Lukso Province get any reception!? 

“Yo. _Care to settle a bet for me? I’ll wire one billion to your account._ ”

“ _Who are you and how in the seven shades of hell did you get this number?_ ”

Then two facts hit him: 

1\. The voice sounds naggingly familiar; and  
2\. _He was being spoken to in Kuruta._

“Thanks. That will be all.” 

“Wait, Ging!” A second voice whines into the phone before Ging can stop him. Well, that answers both questions. “I wanted to speak with Kurapika too!” 

“Why didn’t _you_ hunt down his number then?” He can hear the eye roll in Ging’s voice. 

Ging’s accent was passable enough that Kurapika had automatically responded in Kuruta without thinking. He hasn’t heard his mother tongue from anyone’s mouth other than his own in so long, he thought his ears would rust shut from disuse. Why did it have to come from Gon’s negligent father, of all people? “You may be the only other person left on this planet who can speak Kuruta, and _you don’t even care_!?” Kurapika didn’t think it was possible for total indifference to feel even worse than being objectified to nothing more than a pair of scarlet eyes. Has he made Gon feel this way for his _entire life_?

“Eh, it kills time. Picking up extra languages is always useful. You never know when they’ll come in handy for deciphering the text on some bigger, older ruins.” 

“I _hate_ you. Gon is a much better person than you in every way.” 

“Of course he is. I wouldn’t expect any less from my son.” 

“ _May you be struck down by hailstones._ Fuck off and never call me again.” 

Judging by the scrabbling sounds on the other end of the line, the owner of the second voice just managed to snatch Ging’s phone out of his hands. “Hi my name is Curly I’m a Language Hunter I’ve read all your books can I have your autograph?” 

It takes a second for Kurapika to parse the run on sentence that was just blurted into his ears on a single breath. When he does, he is equal parts horrified, intrigued and wistful, reeling from the whiplash of a 180 degree change in mood. Oh no. A fan. 

Absolutely not. He doesn’t _do_ autographs. But… “ _Do you speak Kuruta too?_ ” Kurapika asks Curly softly, barely daring to hope. 

“ _Teach me? Too few books. Ging is mean._ ”

“ _I’m traveling right now. Come and meet me at the Nancha City Public Library on April 10th._ ”

“Uhm. Can you maybe repeat that a bit slower, please?” 

All it takes is a little sweet talk for Kurapika to give a total stranger his number. He must be losing it. 

Menchi comes back to the sight of Kurapika sitting on a log and massaging his temples, eyes back to brown but his brain still too full. Not content to settle down to a mediocre dinner, she’s already managed to hunt down a wild duck, some mushrooms and some fresh herbs. “What’s got your panties in a twist?” 

“Ging Freecs. I should have punched him too, when I had the chance.” 

“Not gonna lie, I voted for Leorio in the Chairman election for a few rounds.” 

That evening, they sit side by side by the campfire and bond over trash talk. 

***

April 4th, 2007. 

Kurapika returns Truffles to her stable, unloads the baskets of pinwheel blossoms from her saddlebags, and carefully puts her harness away. There’s a long to do list running through his mind as always. He needs to learn how to make pinwheel blossom syrup next, and several other spring recipes. Then there’s the matter of meeting his mysterious fan in just under a week, a mix of dread, curiosity and anticipation. When the fruits are in season, Menchi needs to teach him how to make pinwheel fruit jam. That’s getting close to the end of Leorio’s residency with the clinic. It’s about as long as Kurapika was planning to stay in Nancha City. 

Behind it all, there’s the constant background thought process of planning for the wedding at the end of the summer. It definitely has to take place near Leorio’s family since Kurapika doesn’t have any family to speak of. Kurapika wants to keep it small and close-knit. The logical part of him says it’s probably better to let Leorio’s mother handle the cooking since she’s so excited at the prospect, but the emotional part of Kurapika insists that _this_ is no better occasion to go all out on cooking Kuruta cuisine for, even though he knows in his heart that he’s already trying to take on too much with all the organizing and the invitations and the sewing and the enormity of the fact that this is a thing that’s actually happening to him. He’d better talk to Leorio to sort out his anxieties. Kurapika is going to be the last Kuruta to ever get married. 

“Surprise! Happy birthday!” 

“Congratulations, you’re an old man!” 

“You made it to a quarter century!” 

Ambushed by Gon, Killua and Alluka at the threshold of his home, Kurapika is so startled that his eyes go straight to scarlet. While the Zoldycks laugh their asses off at him, Gon immediately takes a peek at what’s inside his covered baskets. “Ooh what did you get?” 

“Welcome home, Kurapika!” Leorio hollers from the kitchen with a friendly wave and a wink that couldn’t be more obvious. This was all his doing. 

Senritsu’s voice chimes in soon afterward from beside him. “It’s good to see you again, Kurapika.” 

“It’s good to see you too. All of you.” The whole apartment is festooned with decorations. There are presents sitting under the legs of the piano, and pots and pans and plates of a big homemade dinner overflowing from the kitchen table to the coffee table because they wasn’t any more room for them to fit. The co-conspirators in the kitchen block Kurapika’s view from the cake they are putting the finishing touches on. Leorio couldn’t manage a decent job of cooking by himself, so he enlisted the aid of Senritsu, who was more than glad to help. “I feel like I’ve been outdone.” 

“Twenty-five is a big milestone! Besides, you never take enough excuses to party, so I decided to fix it.” 

“Leorio, have I told you recently that I love you?” 

“You were just gone for a couple weeks so no, not recently enough.” 

“Awwww,” exaggerates Killua. 

Kurapika ignores him. He drapes himself on the edge of the couch, his chin in both hands. “ _You are my sun, my moon and my stars. Without you, my eyes would have nothing to rest upon._ ”

“You’re going to have to teach me how to say that.” 

Only Leorio already learned how, because he managed to wheedle a pinwheel cake recipe out of Menchi at some point during Kurapika’s travels, dipping into one of the jam jars they picked up over the winter. It is so, _so_ unfair Kurapika can’t jump him in front of the guests. Oh, he _knows_. Leorio is looking at him like he’s daring him to try - retribution for all those times he had to wait until Menchi is out the door. 

***

Curly, as it turns out, doesn’t show up alone. It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to guess that he’s the one with the huge glasses and the long, straight hair ending in frizzy curls. His companion is a redhead in a short skirt and a bunny-eared headband- Pyon, one of the Zodiacs. Kurapika recognizes her from his research into the background of the Zodiacs of the Hunter Association and from a few conversations with Cheadle. Introductions and greetings are exchanged, and Kurapika begins to lead the small group back to the study room he booked for them. 

Lastly, cheerfully hobbling in on a pair of crutches and lagging behind, is a kind-faced woman- now in her late thirties- with her hair pulled back in a mouse-eared headband printed with heart shaped designs. 

Kurapika should have been sitting down for this; he grips a bookshelf for support as his knees threaten to give out from the shock. “ _Sheila_?” She is the only outsider Kurapika has _ever_ seen in Lukso Province, and the person who inspired him to become a Hunter. It’s been _fourteen years_.

“Ohmygod Kurapika, hi! It really is you!” Not at all perturbed by his crimson wide-eyed stare, she sets her crutches aside and crushes him into a hug. The rest of the library patrons back away slowly until Kurapika wraps his arms around her and closes his eyes, too absorbed in a highlights reel of memories behind his eyelids to notice. “You haven’t changed a bit! You’re still so cute I could just squish your cheeks.” 

No matter how many times Leorio calls him cute, Kurapika still can’t reconcile the word with a description of himself. “Appearances are deceiving.” Sheila doesn’t know the half of it. 

“If you were really that different, we wouldn’t be meeting in a library and you wouldn’t be a professional Hunter.” 

“That much is true.” Kurapika lets go of her and retreats into the study room. “What a long circle it’s been to return to this. I have so many questions I’m dying to ask you-” Did she manage to become a Hunter? What’s her specialty? Where has she traveled during all these years? How did she manage to break her leg again? “-but it would be rude of me to ignore my other visitors.” The four of them sit down around the table, where Curly and Pyon offload a collection of their notes. “So tell me, what brings you all the way out here to Nancha City to see me?” 

“The whole thing was my idea,” starts off Pyon. “As a Paleograph Hunter, I would find it tragic to witness the complete destruction of a language in my lifetime when I know there is still a native speaker out there. If the oral tradition is lost without any written record, there’s no way to bring a language back from extinction. When I saw your books in circulation, I had a hunch it was you but only Ging knew enough of the language to confirm it.” 

Kurapika sighs. “What gave me away? Was Ari Pikorider not oblique enough for a pen name? Or maybe ‘Clothing Designs of Lukso Province’, ‘Thirty-Six Folk Songs’, and ‘Thirteen-Headed Dragon’ were too obvious?” 

“Let’s just say you have a reputation.” 

Understatement of the century. By now Kurapika is infamous in Nancha City and in the mafia, and hopefully somewhat more well-liked within the Hunter Association. For all the good paranoia did him, he may as well have published those books with his full legal name. 

“I just knew I had to get in on this as soon as I heard about it,” adds Curly. “I find the Kuruta runic script fascinating! I’ve deciphered the alphabet and started piecing together a Hunter Language to Kuruta dictionary and grammar book based on the translations you provided in ‘Thirty-Six Folk Songs’ and ‘Thirteen-Headed Dragon’. It’s very incomplete. I’d really like lessons on grammar, vocabulary and pronunciation until the Kuruta language is properly preserved for future generations. Getting any further tidbits out of Ging was like pulling teeth, so I had to try to find other sources elsewhere.” 

Sheila smiles. “That’s how Curly found me! I’d love to learn as well. I’m not much use because I only ever learned a few words from the two of you back in the forest. I was so sad to hear what happened after we met. It feels nice to be able to get back in touch with you after so many years.” 

“I’m honored that you’ve taken it upon yourself to start writing a dictionary, Curly. I’m certainly willing to add to it. It would have been tedious to do it all myself.” 

Curly beams, finally feeling like he isn’t just a useless Temp Hunter after all. His contributions have value, and not just to anyone, but to a Hunter who is smart and cool and powerful! “If you know of any other surviving literature, I would really like to have a copy.” 

“There’s nothing. It all burned down.” At the time Kurapika was too devastated by the loss of his family for there to be any room left in his heart for all of the Kuruta books, but now the destruction leaves an ache in his heart. 

Pyon shakes her head. “I’m sorry to hear that.” 

“I don’t know if this helps, but-” Shelia rummages in her backpack and pulls out a thick, richly illustrated book and slides it across the table to Kurapika. “I figured you lost your copy of Hunter D, so I brought you a new one.” 

“ _Thank you._ ” It’s like a belated birthday gift straight from heaven. He only memorized _every word_. Kurapika hugs the volume to his chest like it still has Pairo’s handwriting scrawled in the margins, much neater than Kurapika’s chicken scratch until his eyesight was too far gone. He can’t start the lessons now, he’s about to cry in front of these friends he only just met. “Please excuse me. I… I need a minute.” 

*

“Hello Senritsu.” 

“Hello Kurapika! It’s so good to hear from you. Anytime you want to drop by and record those folk songs of yours, I’ll be ready and waiting here in York Shin.” 

“Actually, I might find myself doing a whole lot more recording than that. You’ll never guess what happened, Senritsu. I have two new friends, I reconnected with someone I met fourteen years ago, and now they’ve become a small Kuruta language class. They’re going to help me with the much more ambitious goal of rescuing the entirety of the Kuruta language- a new dictionary, a grammar book, lessons for beginners, intermediate, and advanced students, everything.” 

“You see? I knew good things would come out of publishing your book sooner or later.” 

“I know, I know. You’re never wrong.” 

“So tell me what these new friends of yours are like.” 

***

It can’t just be Leorio’s imagination. Kurapika’s cooking keeps getting better and better, like magic. There’s something incredibly refreshing about it too, especially after putting in long hours and kicking the ass of a terminal case of aggressive childhood brain cancer with his Disinfection Beam. Those days are the best days. 

“Are you sure you didn’t sneak me some Transfer Chain with In while I wasn’t looking?” 

“Why would I? Besides, I’m not in sufficient danger to activate Emperor Time. My eyes weren’t even scarlet.” 

“Yu-huh they were.” 

“But that wasn’t until _after_ -” He’s been so _energetic_ lately, Kurapika recalls with a faint blush returning to his cheeks. Last night after Menchi left, Leorio was all over him in an instant. With the way Leorio was gratuitously flooding Kurapika’s tired muscles with power through both warm hands, Kurapika’s capacity for rational thought was obliterated almost as quickly. Almost. _Leorio, I’m going to be **so upset** with you if these leftovers never make it into the fridge._ It may not have come out sounding like anything close to a threat, but he has priorities, damn it. The Kiss The Chef apron sure isn’t much of a shield for Kurapika’s modesty in the face of such single-minded intent. _You make me feel so good,_ Leorio had murmured seductively into his ear, trailing kisses downward from neck to chest to abdomen. _Just trying to return the favor._

“It feels just like you did though. Still did, this morning.” Leorio absolutely would have done it again if he didn’t have so many unwashed dishes staring accusingly at him. 

“Well, I _was_ feeling drained. Until I. Ahem. Forgot. I thought it was just from all the cooking.” Kurapika _does_ feel good. Full and contented and relaxed and healthy. 

The idea occurs to them at the same time. 

“Do you think-?”

“What if-?”

Kurapika opens the door of the fridge; Leorio props his chin up on the top of Kurapika’s head. They both peer into the interior with Gyo at the same time. The leftover duck roast with spiral cabbage and mushroom stuffing gives off a telltale white glow. 

“I knew you outdid yourself Kurapika, but _damn_.”

“I don’t know _what_ I even did, other than spending so much time on it.” 

“Isn’t it weird, having two nen abilities that do almost the same thing?” 

“That _is_ odd.” Suspicious even. Kurapika wants to test whether anything happened to his Transfer Chain, but he still can’t activate it without Emperor Time. He nudges Leorio aside and steps an arm’s length away, dangling his Dowsing Chain in front of him. Before their eyes, the chain links snap one by one, and the entire length disintegrates into rust from the bottom up. Kurapika freezes, panic slowly coiling into the pit of his stomach. He lost his _primary offensive ability_. Then the others… Holy thumb? _Snap_. Chain mail net? _Snap_. Grappling chain? _Snap_. He _is_ in mortal danger, Kurapika decides, eyes flashing scarlet. If _any_ half decent nen user with a grudge catches him like this, he’s _dead_. Kurapika briefly activates Emperor Time and tests the Transfer Chain and the Judgement Chain, just to be sure- _snap_ and _snap_. _All_ of his abilities then. He has neither the need nor the desire to test Chain Jail. 

Kurapika is definitely hyperventilating a little. Leorio grabs hold of both of his hands, massaging the palms with his thumbs. Leading Kurapika with stunned, stiff steps to the couch, Leorio pulls him into a seat beside him. “Hey. You know you’re not totally defenseless right? You still have your basic nen techniques, your swords and a mean right hook. You’re smart, you’ll figure this out.” He cradles Kurapika to his chest, rubbing circles into his back until the trembling subsides. 

The very first thing Kurapika does next is to pull out his phone. 

_Kurapika: my chains are crumbling into rust_

_Kurapika: please explain_

_Izunavi: you know how I said the one you are chaining is yourself?_

_Izunavi: hahahaha I told you so_

_Kurapika: v helpful thanks for nothing_

_Izunavi: anytime_

***

“Curly, Pyon, Sheila, I apologize for getting carried away the last time. I was so caught up in introductions and old memories that we barely had a chance to get into the actual lessons.” 

“Oh, it’s not a problem!” Enthuses Curly. “I’m over the moon that you agreed to help!” 

“Yes well, you realize I won’t be available to host all of these sessions in person, don’t you? This is the longest I’ve ever stayed in one place since becoming a Hunter, and soon it will be time for me to move on somewhere less accessible and more dangerous.” 

Pyon lifts one finger. “I could set up a teleconference.” 

“Assuming I will have cell reception or a stable internet connection.” 

“I have assumed nothing of the sort.” Kurapika’s appraisal of Pyon’s abilities has just gone up considerably. 

“Good. In that case, I would like to start with an assessment of all of your abilities in writing, reading, listening and speaking Kuruta, so that I know where to start teaching from.” 

Kurapika begins filling up the dry erase board in rapid runic script, the words flowing easily from more than a decade of memories. “First one to recognize this text, raise your hand.” He then begins to read out loud in a measured pace, training their ears to the sound. 

Pyon nearly leaps out of her seat, slamming both hands on the table. “It’s the beginning of the first chapter of Hunter D!” 

“Correct.” After all, it’s only fitting that the book that taught him how to speak in Hunter Language should be used for the same purpose in reverse. 

***

Over the course of four hours of gentle simmering, the pinwheel fruit jam doesn’t require constant stirring; Menchi and Kurapika alternate keeping an eye on it while Kurapika types up the rest of his notes for ‘128 Recipes’. He has them all organized by category with an alphabetical index at the back: soups, cold plates and salads, main dishes and sides, breads and savory pastries, desserts, beverages. Menchi proofreads over his shoulder and offers suggestions. For all of their creative differences they’ve grown into bosom buddies, like they’ve been bickering side by side forever. 

“Are you sure you don’t want me to publish under your name?” 

“They’re _your_ recipes. I would put cinnamon in it.” 

“Co-authors then. It could have taken me a decade to figure out how to get all the proportions right and substitute ingredients without your help.” 

“Only if you publish under your real name.” 

“I’m fine with that. I’ve discovered that my pen name is basically useless either way.” 

“Which photo did you want to use for the cover?” 

“I’ll make the savory pancakes with mushroom sauce again and get a better photo this time. I poured my blood, sweat and tears into that recipe. And my nen, apparently. Does that ever happen to you?” 

“ _Duh_. You only just noticed? Geeze, and here I gave you too much credit for doing it on purpose.” 

“Shut up.” 

“ _You_ shut up.” 

“Hey, do you think the jam is done by now?” 

“Almost. It should have boiled down enough by now. I’ll hold the pot, you strain out the seeds.” 

“Got it.” 

Focused concentration actually does make both of them quiet for a while, trying not to spill any boiling hot jam while Kurapika stirs the mixture through a strainer into a second large pot. 

“Let’s bring the strained jam to a boil again. It needs to be piping hot before it goes into the jars.” 

“That shouldn’t take more than a minute or two.” 

“We also need to sterilize the jars. Boil some water.” 

“I’ll put the kettle on.” 

There is a bustle of activity as Kurapika sterilizes all of the jars and their lids, careful not to scald himself. Menchi continues to stir the pot until it returns to a gentle boil. Then Kurapika ladles the finished jam into each of the jars, seals and dates them. 

“Now you need to bundle the jars up in several layers of kitchen towels for insulation. We need the jam to stay hot and cool down very slowly over the course of a few hours. Otherwise any residual contamination from the air could cause it to spoil.” 

“Come back tomorrow. I’m giving you half, as per our usual agreement. Also you’re invited to our wedding. Don’t ask me how I’m going to pull it off yet, but I will definitely find a way to cook at least some of it myself.” 

“Don’t tell anyone I let you in on this secret, but you’re allowed to make something ahead of time, freeze it and then thaw it or stick it in the oven right before you need it. Just make sure to pick recipes that freeze well.” 

“Oh no, all this time I never even though to ask you what freezes well and what doesn’t…”

“Pureed soups work well, but chunks of boiled vegetables will turn to mush. Roasts are only good fresh. Stews tend to freeze well, as do most baked goods.” 

“Thank you so much, I’ll remember that. Hey Menchi, I had a lot of fun working with you. This has truly been an enlightening experience.” 

“And thank you for being my guide on our food tour of Lukso Province. I love discovering little hidden gems like this.” 

“I’ll send you the final draft to look at tonight, and we can figure out the rest over email. I need to go back to York Shin City to take care of a few things. I’m hoping by the end of the week I can submit the completed draft to my editor.” 

“Have you changed your mind yet? Are you thinking of becoming a Gourmet Hunter?” 

“Oh _hell_ no, that would be far too much effort. From now on I refuse to enslave myself to the kitchen for anything less than a special occasion.” 

***

“Mr. Kurapika. Long-time no see. I trust you are doing well?” 

“Better than ever, Doctor Barbadens. I would like to invite you to my wedding next month.” 

“Congratulations!” 

“But that’s not the main reason I came here. There’s something bothering me that I didn’t feel comfortable divulging over the phone.” 

“Of course. How can I help you?” 

“I need to understand what’s happening with my nen abilities. Somehow I managed to embed nen into my cooking without consciously thinking about it, but when I actively try to call up my chains, they immediately crumble into rust.” 

“Have you retried Water Divination?” 

“Yes, I’m still primarily a Conjurer.” 

“Tell me, Mr, Kurapika. When was the last time you used your chain abilities?” 

“It’s been about a year.” That long? The time went by so quickly he hadn’t noticed. “Do you mean to tell me all this is happening because _I’m_ rusty?” 

“Not quite. That isn’t how nen works. Even if you hardly ever have a chance to use a certain ability, it will still be accessible to you as long as it’s still truly relevant to you. How long has it been since you felt like you needed your chains?” 

During the entirety of his administrative role in the Kakin Port City Emergency Zobae Clinic, he never needed his Dowsing Chain for defense even once- that sparring session against Leorio was just for fun. Then, all this time in Nancha City, no one has tried to attack him with nen in spite of the fact that he was initially surrounded by hostility. Kurapika hasn’t touched his Chain Jail in even longer – not since his fight with Nobunaga. That was almost _seven years_ ago. “It depends which of my abilities is in question, but that’s been about a year as well.” 

“Do you still dream about chains?” 

“I can’t remember the last time I have, no.” 

“How does it feel when you try to conjure your old abilities?” 

“How do I put this…” Kurapika tries to summon his Dowsing Chain one more time; it snaps and falls apart even more quickly than before. “Forced and uncomfortable. No, that isn’t quite the right description for it. It’s like pushing against a spring. The more force I put into it, the harder it resists. Then as soon as I let go, my aura springs back to its original shape.” Where is the anger and the hatred, the conviction that there are criminals who need to be chained down to hell? Long gone. Punted over the mountains with the shattered display jars. Good riddance. It’s so far out of reach now- too much effort. “It feels like having a circular argument. Or rereading a book I already didn’t like the first time. I can’t be bothered.” Nor does he want to go looking for the hideous, burning black hole he used to be convinced he never wanted to escape from. Only now that he’s far enough out of its orbit can he see it for what it really is. Kurapika shudders with revulsion. 

“Perhaps your subconscious is telling you that you don’t need them anymore.” 

“What you’re saying makes a lot of sense, but trying to bake my way out of an assassination attempt just isn’t going to cut it. Even though I’m no longer going out of my way to make enemies, I still need a means of self defense that isn’t going to crumble to dust in my hands.” 

“What is the first image that comes to your mind when you close your eyes?” 

“Wedding plans, mostly. Leorio’s face, what I’m going to cook, some ideas for clothing patterns-”

“One at a time, Mr. Kurapika. If you can’t narrow it down to a single image, then your nen won’t be able to decide either. If nothing in particular stands out, you may need to start your visualization training over from the beginning.” 

“I must admit this is a problem I never could have anticipated. It appears that I’ve taken up too many hobbies, Doctor Barbadens.” 

“Take some time to meditate on it, then write down a list of the things that are the most important to you in your journal. Alternatively, you can list your strongest, most meaningful recent memories. If you find yourself feeling the inclination to draw, or your thoughts call up related smells, tastes or sounds, it’s a good sign you’re headed in the right direction.” 

***

Why his student is always so eager to get his ass kicked, Izunavi will never know. “You’ve gotten _slow_ , kid. You should have been able to dodge those pebbles easily without having to block. Waste of nen.” 

“Master Izunavi, are you going _easy_ on me?” 

“You asked for it, you little shit.” Because the only time Kurapika ever calls him Master is when he’s using it as an insult. No respect at all. Izunavi fires a merciless barrage of small, deadly projectiles at him, picked up at random from the forest floor. 

Now that’s more like it. Kurapika is finally getting warmed up, shaking off the rust. It’s all coming back to him like the steps of a dance- the fluidity of movement, the sharpened senses, the lightning fast reflexes, predicting the trajectory of dozens of projectiles all at once. Only this time his Hatsu feels totally different. Last time he trained with his nen master, his chains were solid, heavy, constricting, menacing. Now a ribbon unfurls from the tip of his right index finger, light and airy in gold-colored silk. It almost doesn’t want to obey gravity, bending instead to the whims of the late summer breeze. Kurapika can trace decorative patterns in the air with it like an Olympic gymnast. With a flick of the wrist, he snaps up every tiny projectile within its soft loops and folds and sends a taste of Izunavi’s medicine hurtling right back at him. 

Well if he _wants_ to waste nen for no reason… Izunavi decides to turn this into an entertaining game of ping pong, adding more projectiles as he goes. “From chains to silk? That’s pretty gay.” 

“My sources tell me the shoe fits. On a related note, would you like to come to my wedding?” Grinning like an idiot, Kurapika splays out his fingers, flaunting the ring on his left hand as he plays along to Izunavi’s rules. 

“Hah! I bet you’re a scarlet-eyed bridezilla.” 

“ _Excuse you_ , if I needed any more drama in my life I would be mailing personalized invitations to the Nostrades, Zenji and the Ryodan on fancy stationary. Guess what: they’re not invited. I want to throw a party. I want it to be _good_. And I want it to be remembered for good friends, good food, and the last Kuruta traditions anyone is ever going to see. Everything else is just cake.” 

“Well I’ll be damned. It’s like I don’t even know you anymore.” 

“It’s amazing how many more important things I can get done after shifting my priorities. I’d like to impress you with all the cooking I’ve been slacking off on my training for.” 

“Yeah? How do you even have time to cook for a whole ass wedding?” 

“To be fair it’s only half; Leorio’s family is handling the rest. Still a lot of responsibility, but I enjoy it. I know it’s going to pay off in the end.” 

Around the time the number of objects flying through the air at point blank killing speed doubles, Kurapika whips out a second ribbon- no a strip of blue cloth- that shoots out from the index finger of his left hand. Not a single pebble falls out of the air for a solid ten minutes. The conversation dies down as the concentration increases. Soon Izunavi reaches his Emission limit. Kurapika’s movements are becoming less flashy and more efficient, yet half an hour in Izunavi is certain that his student’s endurance has increased dramatically since their last sparring match. Bullshit, he must have been using his nen for _something_ all this time. 

“Getting tired yet?” 

“This is a good workout.” If anything, Kurapika feels refreshed and more energetic than ever. Kurapika decides he’s done with ping pong. He hooks his blue cloth around a tree branch and swings up out of the way, letting all of the projectiles chew holes into a patch of forest behind him. He lets himself fall, aiming a kick at Izunavi’s head. 

Izunavi sidesteps out of range of the kick, jabbing an elbow at Kurapika’s abdomen. The strip of blue cloth widens to the size of a pillowcase, forming a solid shield. As Kurapika lands and skids backwards, he aims the ribbon at Izunavi’s ankles and almost manages to trip him. _Shit_ , now Izunavi is getting a little winded. Time to end this. He strikes back with a series of close range martial arts moves, forcing Kurapika to shift the concentration of his aura around to block. 

Swinging back up into a tree branch to buy time, Kurapika begins an incantation in a language Izunavi can’t understand, concentrating aura in the pinky finger of his right hand. Tiny images begin to form from the edges of his aura, rough, stylized pen sketches in the shapes of moons and suns and flowers and miniature folk heroes dressed in traditional Kuruta garb. 

“ _Cut off one head and two more will grow in its place.”_

A spark leaps from pinky finger to palm to index, infusing the golden ribbon from his right hand with a boost of aura. The ribbon takes on a life of its own, rearing up to strike like a snake. It splits. It splits again. Thirteen dragon heads form from the same ribbon, lunging for Izunavi’s arms, his legs, his face, his waist, his back. 

While Izunavi dodges a flurry of attacks, Kurapika launches himself in a series of jumps in a wide circle around Izunavi. Something constricts, pinning Izunavi’s arms against his sides. Goddamn it, he fell for the distraction and the In. That wasn’t a strip of cloth, it was an entire sheet. 

Kurapika is a fucking ungracious winner. He laughs and laughs. Still pays for dinner though. 

***

The desert cactus botanical garden is a good venue for a small wedding, cozy and beautiful. Flower garlands and strings of light native to Leorio’s country are strung up over the blooming cactus plants alongside streamers of ribbon and hanging banners stitched with the Kuruta symbols for love, renewal, home and happiness. The evening is cool and dark after a hot, sunny day. Rows of wooden benches are arranged in a semicircle around center stage, with a feast enthusiastically prepared by Kurapika and by Leorio’s family waiting in the back. Kurapika spends so long helping with the setup and chatting with his friends that Senritsu has to shoo him away to get properly dressed before he’s late for his own party. 

Sketching patterns on paper, translating them ink onto bolts of fabric, measuring twice and cutting once, licking the end of a thread to pass it through the eye of the needle of his sewing machine, stitching, hemming, embellishing- Kurapika has spent so long crafting his wedding outfit that he dreams about it in his sleep. He could literally conjure it onto his body in a split second, if that weren’t a truly frivolous waste of nen. 

Today Kurapika will wear maroon. In the private green room area, he changes into a pair of trousers that fits loosely around his legs with a tighter band around his ankles. He pulls on a pair of flat, embroidered dress shoes – Kuruta symbols and flower patterns in red over black suede. Now _those_ were a pain to figure out. His light, long-sleeved tunic reaches down to just above his knees, decorated with a ribbon of gold at the hem, the sleeves, and collar up around his neck. His tunic fastens in a series of white clasps down the middle from his neck to his waist, tied with a gold sash at his right hip. The subtly glossy fabric is patterned with slightly darker fabric shapes to resemble the dappled shade of leaves on the forest floor; Kurapika painstakingly hemmed and sewed them all into place by hand. When he is finished getting changed, he uses his nen to weave a crown of ribbons into his hair in maroon and gold, the ends trailing all the way down to the small of his back. 

Now, how does Leorio look in the traditional Kuruta wedding outfit Kurapika made for him? He’s dying to see. Leorio is clean shaven, without the tiny sunglasses. His hair is too short for ribbons, gelled into a less spiky style than usual. A long sleeveless robe in matching maroon drapes down to mid-shin, making Leorio look even taller. Unfair. It’s a bit of a mishmash with the black slacks, shiny black dress shoes and cream colored vest he’s wearing underneath, but the overall effect is still handsome and festive. Leorio’s toned, tanned arms are bare, except for a garland of native cactus flowers around his right bicep. He looks a bit shy, put on the spot in this big moment and unaccustomed to the style of dress- until he catches sight of Kurapika and his whole face goes red. 

Kurapika’s heart might leap out of his chest at any second. Their wedding photographer creates eternity from the fleeting moment when they catch sight of each other; Kurapika’s eyes scarlet and adoring as he looks up, way up at that goofy smile. Their hands are linked, standing face to face. Maroon is a lucky color. 

Their ceremony is a short, sweet mosaic of three languages combining the traditions of two countries. Leorio couldn’t stop caring for Kurapika in sickness and in health if he tried. Kurapika vows that he will love and protect Leorio until the sun and the moon fall out of the sky. 

Leorio memorized two phrases in Kuruta and practiced over and over again until he could get the pronunciation almost perfect. The first was necessary for the exchange of rings from left hand to right. 

“ _I name you Leorio Paladiknight of the Kuruta Clan._ ”

“ _I name you Kurapika Paladiknight of the Kuruta Clan._ ”

The second is necessary for everything else. 

“ _I love you, Kurapika._ ”

Kurapika very nearly attacks him with kisses. He can’t help if the fireworks thundering in his chest are deafening Senritsu, or if he’s making Gon blush, or if Killua is never going to stop peppering both of them with catcalls. Leorio’s mother is crying, the rest of Leorio’s family has erupted in applause, and somewhere toward the back Izunavi is smiling lopsidedly and shaking his head. 

“That kiss was a seven out of ten, at best. My, my, so sloppy.” Hisoka has sauntered past the Closed For a Private Event signs without a care, his flaming orange hair slicked down, dressed in a garish purple suit with a carnation in the buttonhole. As if to emphasize his point, he steals a swipe of handmade pinwheel berry cake frosting and licks off of his right index finger. Hmm? Not bad at all. 

“What that fuck?” Sputters Leorio, the flush on his face morphing into indignation. “Who invited _you_!?”

“Hush, my love. I’ll take care of this.” Because of course Kurapika has to play bouncer at his own wedding. He was getting paranoid that it was too perfect. 

Condition 1: Breathe. 

Condition 2: Get those eyes under control. 

Condition 3: Don’t squish it. 

From out of Kurapika’s right middle finger the gaudiest, most passive-aggressive giant teacup Leorio has ever seen materializes upside down around Hisoka, imprisoning him in a liminal nen space. The white porcelain is ornately decorated with gold Art Deco patterns around the rim, with a leaping dolphin for a handle. While the assembled guests stare speechlessly, it shrinks to the size of an ordinary teacup. The teacup looks suspiciously innocent sitting there without any signs of movement until Kurapika casually strolls over, slides one hand underneath and picks it up off the ground. 

“Dearest husband, where is the nearest river I can dump him into? Or a swamp, or a sewer main, I’m not picky.” 

“Pfffffft. Oh my god, Kurapika, that’s glorious. How long can you keep him stewing in there without overdoing your nen?” 

“Oh, two, three hours at least.” 

“Then forget about Hisoka and enjoy the party. We’ll find somewhere to ditch him after.” 

“I like the way you think.” 

Kurapika can’t believe it was that easy. Conversation and laughter flow just as freely as the food and drinks, and he swaps a lot more recipes with Leorio’s mom. When they make it to dessert, Kurapika cuts out the piece of cake Hisoka contaminated, serves it onto a small plate and slips it underneath the rim of the teacup. He isn’t totally heartless, after all. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You guys there was a recipe for roast chicken with apple and walnut stuffing that I've been meaning to try in my Hungarian cookbook, and it turned out delicious.
> 
> Ingredients:  
> 1 broiler / frying chicken  
> 2-3 apples depending on the size, peeled and diced  
> 100 g of ground walnuts  
> 2 eggs  
> One and a half kaiser rolls worth of dry bread cubes soaked in milk with the excess squeezed out  
> Season with salt and marjoram
> 
> (For those of you with dumb ~~nen~~ dietary restrictions like me, I substituted wild rice blend (however much wild rice 1/2 cup of dry rice makes) to make it gluten free and a little splash of oat milk because I'm lactose intolerant- just enough to give the stuffing the right texture. For the wild rice version you definitely have to cook the rice first before putting it in the stuffing.)
> 
> Basically every ingredient but the chicken is the stuffing. Mix it all together, stuff it into the cavity of the chicken, salt the outside of the chicken and roast it in a preheated oven at 400F / 200C. If you have excess stuffing you can tuck it around the chicken wings so they don't burn to a crisp in the oven while the breast and thighs are still raw. A big broiler chicken kindof takes forever to roast (about 1 and a half hours covered in aluminum foil plus another half hour without foil to start browning the top) but it will come out nice and moist.
> 
> Skip the entire chicken and just bake the stuffing in a pie tin or casserole dish if you want to go vegetarian. This recipe will probably work just as well without the egg, too. It should only take half an hour to an hour depending how much stuffing you made.
> 
> Happy Canadian Thanksgiving!


	8. Get In Losers, We're Going Dumpster Diving

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now before Pectinouscube gets on my case about this, NO THIS IS NOT THEIR HONEYMOON WHAT DO YOU TAKE ME FOR. I figure Kurapika would have stuck around getting to know the Paladiknight family better for a couple of weeks and then spent the last of his time in Nancha practicing his new nen abilities more (including exactly how the Transfer Chain type abilities in his cooking work). I just didn't have any ideas for writing it.
> 
> Edit @Pectinouscube: OK fine that isn't a proper honeymoon either. At least Kurapika allowed himself a vacation. I guess they haven't gone yet. I already used up all my Kurapika on vacation ideas in the previous chapter. :'D

He’s going to miss this place. Welcoming Leorio home from work, grooming Truffles in her stable, curling up against the arm of the couch and reading, grinning every time he passes by that crooked bookshelf, dividing his attention between four different pots on the stove, playing [There Will Never Be Another You](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=25GcO7cVu-g) on his piano. 

“Leorio.” Kurapika looks up at him seriously from across the kitchen table. “I’ve accomplished what I set out to do here in Nancha City, and now I need a bigger challenge. Do you still want to come with me to Meteor City? I’m confident that I’m strong enough to handle it now but… I’ll miss you if you’ve changed your mind.” 

“You’re ready, Kurapika. You’ve got this. And of course I’m coming with you.” 

***

_Kurapika: are you in Meteor City right now?_

_Nobunaga: wow shit I thought you deleted my number_

_Kurapika: I know_

_Kurapika: I haven’t ceased surprising myself yet either_

_Nobunaga: and yeah I am_

_Nobunaga: so you’re coming?_

_Kurapika: yes_

_Kurapika: I’ve made up my mind_

_Nobunaga: cool_

_Nobunaga: lmk when you’re here_

***

In a strange reversal of roles, Leorio has a plan, while all Kurapika has is a vague outline and a nervous, lost expression on his face. Meteor City doesn’t exist on paper, and neither does their hackjob of a medical clinic and the volunteers who work there. For this stint to count toward his medical licensure, Leorio had to call Cheadle up to usher him through a few legal loopholes, acting as his supervisor in a remote capacity. In reality, Leorio will largely be left to his own devices with little oversight. He is a little giddy with anticipation. An utter lack of bureaucracy and an abundance of people who will need his help means he’ll finally have the freedom to offer his services free of charge without any hospital executives breathing down his neck. Leorio is going to hunt down the medical clinic, set up shop there, and heal as many people as humanly possible. He’s going to make a big difference; he can already see it. 

Clutching Leorio’s hand a little too tightly, Kurapika goes over his goals in his head for the hundredth time. First, he will get in touch with Nobunaga, prepared to defend himself in case Nobunaga turns on him after learning that all the restrictions Kurapika placed on him have since crumbled to rust. Likely? Not anymore, but it could still happen. Next, he needs to face the Ryodan in their home territory, objectively a bad idea whether he wants to bring Leorio with him or not. He has to do it. He has to talk to Kuroro and to the entire troupe. Forgiveness won’t feel entirely real until the words pass from his lips into the open, irrevocable. Most of all, he has to _understand_. How do people survive in Meteor City? What kind of misery is turning these resilient survivors into mafia fodder? Why is the Genei Ryodan so violent to others yet so loyal to each other? 

Follow the unspoken rules of Meteor City and you’ll fit right in. 

1\. Deal with the smell or go home. 

Long before they arrive at the docks, the stench is overpowering. For anyone without access to a private ship which is likely to get stolen the instant it lands, the only way to get to Meteor City is by hitching a ride on a barge arriving with a fresh load of garbage. Lovely. Although the prevaling miasma makes their eyes water, it’s a good thing both Kurapika and Leorio are of strong constitution. It gets easier to relax after their brains give up on the distress signal from their noses as a lost cause. 

2\. Nobody gives a shit about fashion. Wear something you can clean or wear something you’re willing to burn. Or wear whatever the hell you want, because like we said, nobody gives a shit. 

Kurapika is wearing his oldest, most threadbare Kuruta robe in blue and gold, the very same one he wore to the Hunter exam eight years ago. When he leaves this place, it will be time to let this outfit go. Leorio, having deemed his usual suit inappropriate for a trip to Meteor City, is wearing a pair of scrubs. His outfit is clean- or at least it could have counted as such at the start of this voyage- but stained beyond hope of completely washing out any of the dubious patches of blood, solvents and bodily fluids. With expectations that are perhaps more hopeful than realistic, he brought one other change of similarly stained scrubs with him. Maintaining the standard of hygiene for medical practice is going to be difficult. 

3\. Anything that isn’t nailed down can and will be stolen. Pack accordingly.

4\. Procuring the essentials of survival is a zero sum game. Unless you can make or bring your own, that which you eat is taken from someone else’s mouth.

5\. Prepare to defend your territory. 

All Kurapika brought with him are his pair of swords, his cell phone and charger, his Hunter license, two jars of pinweel fruit jam (heavily suffused with his aura- the stored nen will come in handy sooner or later), a reusable water bottle, and a toothbrush and toothpaste. Everything but the sword fits in his bag, which he will carry with him and keep an eye on at all times. Leorio has his pocket knife, his cell phone, his second pair of scrubs, his toothbrush and shaving kit, and his first aid supplies, all crammed into his familiar diamond patterned briefcase. Everything else they had in Nancha city was either sold or put into storage. Their meager provisions won’t get them very far; survival in the long term will be left up to their wit and ingenuity. 

The docking of the garbage barge is greeted by the shrill cries of greedy seagulls squabbling over half rotten scraps. In turn, the seagulls are greeted by a horde of armed locals eager to bag a small meal of fresh poultry. Crows and vultures circle overhead, more patient and wary than their seafaring counterparts. Leorio and Kurapika scramble ashore amid utter chaos. It’s raining everything from rocks to bullets to javelins out here, trying to spear a thousand seagulls and missing more than hitting. If that wasn’t enough, they must dodge out of the way of an avalanche of solid waste as the bed of the barge tips upward to dump all of its contents in one big heap by the shoreline. A convoy of front loaders swoops in to fill up the waiting garbage trucks, clear away the pile and move it deeper toward the city center, making room for the next new barge shipment. 

From the docks to the city, surrounding it on all sides is a long stretch of barren desert. Leorio and Kurapika hitch a ride on a garbage truck next, headed in the direction of the city proper with its skyline of narrow grey mid-rise buildings visible on the horizon. Their presence briefly disturbs a resident stretched out in a sleeping bag on top of all the garbage. The man with the scruffy grey beard looks up at them balefully, then turns over onto his other side and goes back to sleep. Behind them, the next cargo vessel is already getting ready to disgorge another batch of putrifying refuse onto the shore- rotting food that should have been eaten before it was too late or at least gone in the compost, plastics and paper whose value for recycling has always been a lie, building materials that should have been reused, outdated electronics that were purposely designed to be thrown away for the newest model, and hazardous waste that never should have been invented in the first place- all mixed together in an unsightly heap. The parade is endless. This is where other countries go to sweep their dirty little secrets under the rug. 

Kurapika is silent, watching the landscape pass by with a dissatisfied frown. Desert gives way to the suburbs: heaps, mountains, an entire island of garbage. Life in Lukso Province was never this… this _wasteful_. He may not have had access to technology and lifesaving medicine as a child, but at least everything Kurapika ever ate, wore and used could seamlessly return to the earth when it was no longer fit for its purpose. What will happen when Meteor City runs out of room for more filth? 

When the pathway between mounds of garbage becomes impassable, the garbage truck decides that this is the end of the line, unceremoniously adding its contents to one of the smaller heaps seemingly at random. Leorio and Kurapika get out and set out on the remaining hour long walk to the center of town. The sleeping passenger grumbles and relocates his sleeping bag elsewhere. Here the locals swarm over the fresh garbage in the piles and trucks, where they comb through the debris for anything and everything that could possibly be useful. Most of them wear gas masks, gloves and hazmat suits. A few- presumably the hardier, crazier ones- are dressed as outlandishly as the Ryodan. Then there are the children, running, hiding, jumping and climbing among the wreckage of dented washing machines, cracked drywall and rusted iron beams like the whole world is their playground. 

“Cheerful place, isn’t it?” Remarks Leorio dryly. 

“I may never understand why anyone chooses to live here.” 

“Why else? It’s because they don’t have a better option.” 

“Don’t they? People from here have a reputation for being so strong and powerful, with connections to the Mafia. Surely they can twist enough arms and access enough wealth to _fix_ all of this?” 

“That’s a _lot_ of arm twisting, Kurapika. Not everyone can deadass look the Mafia in the eye and tell them to go fuck themselves like you can. Maybe they’re too afraid to make any demands because they could lose all of the money and status they fought so hard for, and it’s all too easy to go back to digging through garbage for something to eat. Poverty twists people’s way of thinking for life, and forces them to take paths they otherwise never would have considered. Trust me, I’ve been there.” 

As the depressing grey buildings of the town center draw closer, a ramshackle slum of tents, shacks and shoddily built lean-tos comes into view among the foothills of the garbage mountains. Scraggly little patches of green poke upward between several of the dwellings, where a few brave residents have scratched an attempt at a kitchen garden out of the contaminated soil. They all stand in line to pump murky brown water from a well by hand. Toxic black smoke rises in plumes all over the landscape where the residents distill water with a crude but ingenious setup of buckets and plastic sheeting or cook their salvaged, expired food over drums and piles of anything that will burn. 

In the center of town, this dusty stretch of street that can cardly be called a downtown core nevertheless consists of buildings that look a lot more solid and permanent than the cramped slum they just passed through, built from concrete and brick and tile and whatever other materials the residents could salvage from the dump. There are apartments with darkened windows, barred with iron on the first and second floors. Many of the windows are broken, hastily boarded up from the outside. There are no vehicles, only pedestrians on the streets. Somewhere in the middle of it all is a grand cathedral, crowded at all hours of the day and night with people who have little to live on other than prayer. A large castle-like structure rises to dizzying heights on the edge of town, tangled in a white material that looks- impossibly- like it could be made from cobwebs. Everything about it screams at Kurapika to _run_. Funny, nothing ever used to shake him to the foundations like this, especially not the prospect of facing the Ryodan. He used to have nothing to lose. 

“Hey.” Leorio squeezes back at his hand in reassurance. “You okay?” 

Swallowing thickly around the lump in his throat, Kurapika responds with a mute nod. 

First stop: the medical clinic. Nestled among the apartment complexes across from the church is an imposing concrete building that looks much more like a proper hospital than Leorio was expecting. Standing resolutely in front of the heavy double doors is a flagpole bearing a lonely green cross. The rooftop is dotted with rain barrels, even going so far as to collect any excess from the nearby buildings. Given how cracked and dry the soil is beneath their feet, Leorio could hazard a guess that they haven’t seen any fresh water in a long time. 

The inside is cramped, with makeshift cots cramming the hallways all the way out to the waiting areas. There is no reception. There are only haggard nurses and doctors flitting from one patient to the next. Lacking in ambulances or any sort of vehicle at all, paramedics, mercenaries, family, friends and ill-trained muscular volunteers carry fresh patients through the doors on makeshift stretchers or simply leave patients where they lie; they may or may not ever get the medical attention they need to survive. The entire clinic is simply one overgrown emergency room, too overwhelmed dealing with one near death after another to spare the time for more mundane chronic problems. In contrast to York Shin General Hospital, the median age of the patients passing through the doors of the clinic in Meteor City is alarmingly young. Why bother with cancer, heart disease and diabetes when you’re lucky not to die from violence, illness or starvation long before old age becomes a problem? The triage nurse is a particularly cold arbiter of fate. Patients who are not likely to make it are simply rejected back out through the double doors to die, unworthy of the additional strain on already stretched resources. Then they head straight across the street to the cathedral. A convenient location, really. 

One look at Leorio’s scrubs and he is invited into the fold without as much as an introduction. “Welcome to hell, my good man. If the the smoke inhalation doesn’t get you, the heavy metals will.” 

“Hey Kurapika, you like volunteering at the hospital, right? Are you planning to stick around at the clinic with me for a while? To find your bearings? To take your mind off your worries for a little while and have something immediate to focus on? These people could clearly use all the help they can get.” 

“Leorio,” Kurapika murmurs into his ear. “I _can’t_.” As much as these people could benefit from Kurapika’s nen bandages – the beribboned replacement for his Holy Chain, he can’t afford to depelete his nen for non-combat purposes when he needs to be on high alert. “If Emperor Time was a place-” the old version, paid for with its own weight in blood- “this is exactly what it would look like. Be _careful_.”

“I understand. Where to next?” 

“I’d better call Nobunaga. It will keep bothering me until I get it over with.” 

“Need me to come along?” 

“This might sound foolish, but I’m going to trust him.” 

“If you’re sure…”

The only way to be sure is to do it. “Go save some people Leorio. I’ll text you when I’m on my way back.” 

*

“Hey. Ready for the grand tour?” 

“Before we get started, there’s something I need to show you.” Nobunaga lets Kurapika lead him to a narrow alleyway between buildings, out of sight of passersby. “Do you still trust me?” 

“Sure.” It’s been how many years? Kurapika still hasn’t gotten over how easy Nobunaga makes it sound. “Why?” 

Kurapika activates Emperor Time with the force of all the unease he hasn’t been able to dispel from the moment he climbed aboard the garbage barge. He holds out his right arm at full length in front of him, pointing his Judgement Chain at Nobunaga’s heart. Nobunaga flinches but doesn’t move. One blink is almost enough to miss the entire length of time it takes for the Judgement Chain to disintegrate into nothing before his eyes. Kurapika’s arm falls back to his side. He blinks up at Nobunaga, brown eyes wide and staring like he’s waiting for the axe to fall. 

“You’re free.” 

“Sweet! I don’t have to get stuck with the shit jobs anymore.” 

“I don’t want to know and I’m not going to ask.” 

“Wanna spar?” 

“Don’t push your luck.” But the tension has already dissolved. With anger no longer blocking his worldview, Kurapika finds it increasingly difficult to stay aloof in the face of Nobunaga’s stubborn good cheer. 

“Ha! Kidding, kidding, it would be boring against a guy who lost his nen anyhow.” 

“Who says I lost my nen?” One blond eyebrow quirks upward in a challenge, like he’s prepared to reconsider the offer at a later date. Kurapika has to block a hearty slap on the back with Ten as Nobunaga hoots with laughter. He supposes he had that coming. “Lead the way, Mr. Hazama.” 

“What’s with the formal bullshit?” 

“That… was a joke.” 

“Don’t worry, you’re hilarious.” 

“I’ll take your word for it.” 

As they reemerge from the alleyway. Nobunaga gestures toward the grand cathedral. “First stop, the big-ass church of Meteor City. Here’s where you go to die. Have you been inside yet?” 

“Do I look dead to you?” 

“Nah you’re too solid to be a ghost.” 

“Consider me duly reassured.” 

Once inside, Kurapika takes a moment to contemplate the stark grey architecture. The main hall is cavernous, with plain tiled floors. Since the death count isn’t unusually high today, the rows of worn wooden pews sit in their usual places with a wide aisle down both sides and in the middle of the hall. There isn’t much in the way of adornment on the smooth walls, nor on the panels carved into the doors and benches. However, someone took great care in crafting the domed arches of the ceiling. In this city of garbage, Kurapika can’t help but wonder who drew up the plans for this building, who cast the concrete into these designs and how they were lifted into place. Each window contains a mosaic of stained glass. Their soft glow and the flickering candles in front of the altar are the only source of lighting. 

Nobunaga catches the direction he is looking. “They’re made of broken beer bottles. Neat, huh?” 

“Huh. Clever.” As far as Kurapika can tell, there are no plaques anywhere. “Who built this place?” 

“Dunno. Maybe the elder council remembers. Writing shit down is about all they’re good for.” 

Ooh, what’s _this_? Kurapika gasps, meandering off toward a shiny distraction in the back. They have a piano! Or… some kind of gargantuan two-tiered lovechild of a piano and an eldritch monstrosity, all tubes and pipes and enough foot pedals to keep an octopus busy. But what does it _sound_ like? Would it… would it be terribly rude if he tried to sight read the piece sitting there waiting above the keys? For organ, it says. He’s been getting so much better at sight reading with practice. A few hazmat clad residents look up from their prayers as Kurapika sits down at the bench. Slowly, a small crowd gathers, waiting for something interesting- and hopefully less depressing than their daily lives- to happen. That’s all the permission Kurapika needs to start playing [Toccata and Fugue in D Minor.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ho9rZjlsyYY) The very first menacing chords send shivers down his spine. Sorry piano, the organ is his new favorite. (And a new word with nothing close to a Kuruta equivalent to add to his vocabulary in Hunter Language; Kurapika doesn’t come across those too often anymore). 

Since when-? Nobunaga couldn’t be more gobsmacked if he had been slapped in the brain by that short lady’s catchy flute nen all over again. The spell is broken a second after the music ends, with a smattering of glove-clad applause from the sparce crowd. Kurapika steps away from the organ, smiling, and that’s when it really hits Nobunaga. Same clothes, same hair, completely different person. This guy _isn’t the Chain User anymore_.

“Holy _shit._ You’ve gotta play that again when the Boss is in town.” The Boss and his raging boner for dark classical music absolutely _need_ to hear this. 

“Uhm.” Kurapika clams up as awkwardly as he was standing in front of Ubogin’s grave with a beer. 

“Nevermind. Wanna see the power station?” 

“You have a power station?” Happy to punt that can down the road, Kurapika falls into step beside Nobunaga. 

“No shit we have a power station. How else are we supposed to charge our cell phones? Not every building is connected because it costs an ass ton of bartered food or services to hire a guy who can dig in the right spot and knows how not to fry the whole neighborhood, but there’s always the internet café if you’re in a pinch.” 

“I’ll keep that in mind.” 

They approach a building cobbled together from scrap bricks, metal and cinder blocks, belching a constant stream of black smoke into the sky from two tall chimneys. Nobunaga likes the power station because of the hot, huge, noisy, dangerous high speed turbines inside, solidly welded together by trial and error from old car parts and metal sheeting and machinery until they figured out how not to make it explode and kill everyone within a few block radius again. The power station and its surroundings are a beehive of activity. Some honest, hard-working Meteor City residents spend their whole lives sorting plastic, paper, otherwise unusable textiles and dry food waste out of the surrounding heaps of garbage to shovel into the ever hungry furnace of the power station. Others lovingly inspect, maintain and repair the machinery at all hours of the day, caring for it like a favorite pet. Kurapika is suitably impressed. In a way it’s beautiful watching all of these discarded pieces and discarded people working toward a common goal. Truly a community effort. 

The main connected loads, as Kurapika finds out from an operator in the control room who could talk his ear off for hours if it didn’t obviously tax the limits of Nobunaga’s interest and attention span, are the data center, the hospital and the water treatment plant. Everything else on the grid is a patchwork of apartments and shops. This would be a great place for solar panels, the operator enthuses, if only they weren’t so expensive and people were ready to start throwing them away. Surprisingly the Cathedral and the cobwebbed castle on the edge of town- the most prominent buildings in the entire city- were never connected to the grid. 

“Yeah I guess you could call that abandoned castle our hideout. No idea when it was built- it’s basically always been there. Believe it or not the webs aren’t original- that was from some Chimera Ants who tried to take it over, including one that Shizuku said shot webs out if its ass before she killed it. The Boss gripes that he never gets enough reading light but then he doesn’t bother to do jack about it because we’re not even here half the time. It’s just a cool looking, oversized place for meetings, sleep, killing time if you have nothing better to do between jobs, temporarily storing shit or laying low for a while if you get injured.” 

“Does it feel like home to you?” 

“Home? Nah, waiting around in a concrete box getting bored isn’t home. Fighting back to back on the battlefield is.” 

Kurapika regrets asking. The weight of each of their ghosts settles between them, smothering their voices and filling up their heads with memories that will always feel too fresh. They walk through the next stops of Nobunaga’s tour in contemplative silence. 

Much like the power station, the water treatment plant is one big furnace of shoveled garbage and billowing smoke, with its prefilters of rocks, pebbles, sand and charcoal, followed by giant tanks of sludge boiling over a scaled up version of the residents’ cooking fires. As the water condenses into a miracle that’s fit for drinking and sanitation, the sludge is dumped in heaps in the back, where residents come by with buckets and wheelbarrows to use for construction and repairs. The vast majority of the water feeds the hospital, with only a small amount pumped to the nearest apartments. 

After the water treatment plant comes the buzzing hum of the data center and its bone chilling air conditioning, so cold after spending time in the desert heat outside. So many electrics have been recycled, refurbished, upgraded and cobbled together here that the residents are getting ready to build an expansion. Meteor City has lightning fast internet speeds for all of their lucrative, illegal business dealings. The efficiency of it all is almost frightening. 

Next comes the council hall, which Nobunaga very briefly explains from the outside, and is ready to pass by completely as a boring place where nothing ever gets done until Kurapika expresses genuine interest. 

“I think I’d like to meet these elders of yours sometime.” 

“Really? You want to waste your time watching them argue? Count me out.” 

“Watching is for amateurs. I had arguing with my elders perfected to an art by the age of ten.” Apparently the thing that drives all the dead people out of Kurapika’s mood is the prospect of poking his nose into the Elder Council’s business. 

It’s boring until you bring your _own_ fun. “Now that, I’d pay to see.” 

“First I have to understand what makes them tick. I’ll come back here and observe more on my own time.” 

Kurapika looks around and pokes his nose into the Elder Council’s business for just long enough that they get pissed off and kick him out. When he comes back out of the building to where Nobunaga is idly chatting with a group of gas mask wearing locals while waiting, Kurapika looks totally smug and unrepentant. He’s seen what he needs to see. They haven’t seen the last of him. 

The last, longest part of the tour is a stroll through Meteor City’s various neighborhoods, tentatively starting a conversation as they go along. They wend past the apartment buildings, the cobbled together houses, the shacks and slums. 

“Where is a good place to stay for the night? Any recommendations?” 

“We don’t do hotels here. Even the Mafia visitors find a guest room to stay at with a friend or business associate. You have a few options. The easiest is to pick a pile of trash and take a long nap. It works best if you have someone to trade with and keep watch, or if you literally have nothing to steal. Just make sure you keep away from the edge of the suburbs because you might find yourself buried in a fresh truckload. Hey, don’t wrinkle your nose. It isn’t as bad as it sounds. There are some places where the trash has been picked clean and there isn’t anything left that stinks anymore, and people have even salvaged some old beat up couches, pillows, cushions, blankets or old rags and clothes to make a sort of group nest to sleep in where it doesn’t get so cold and it’s easier to look out for each other. You don’t have to worry about rain and flash floods unless you’re here in March. The rest of the year all we get are clear skies. Fair warning though- you might end up stuck with some crybaby who hasn’t toughened up enough to stop looking for their guardian or whoever used them to sucker food out of people last time, trying to curl up with someone who _looks_ nice enough and then they hog all the blankets. Dumb kids don’t know not to trust strangers, not even other kids. Although I guess we were all strangers and kids like that once. It takes luck and a lot of courage to find someone who isn’t going to fuck you over.” 

Kurapika is staring straight through him with a strange sort of frown and the most unsettling hint of a red ring around his irises. 

“What?” 

“Do you remember your parents?” 

“Parents, yeah right. Should I care who fucked to create me? They sure as fuck didn’t care about me.” 

“What did you do before you joined the Ryodan?” 

“Ate. Slept. Stole shit. Nothing really important or memorable, same as anyone.” 

“You didn’t have any friends?” 

Nobunaga simply shrugs. Should he even try to remember? A territorial ally one day would be the same person to steal from you the next. He never really thought he could count on anyone until the Boss made it all sound so simple. “Not really. Does it matter?” 

If there was no one whose company he valued, no one he could trust in all of his formative years, of _course_ life would have no value. _Does it matter? Should I care? Same as anyone._ Multiply the same hollow childhood- more broken than even Kurapika’s own- across thousands, _millions_ of children- more people than Kurapika will ever meet in his entire life…

Nobunaga takes Kurapika’s appalled silence to mean he must have lost interest too. “Now where was I? Your second option is to do favors for someone who has an apartment or at least a little shack until they owe you enough to let you crash on the couch, or a floor with some walls and roof over it. If you don’t like either of those options or you’re planning to stick around for longer, you could always salvage some materials and build your own place. The hardest part is finding a lock, unless you pick a door heavy enough that it can only be moved with nen. Then people will know you’re too strong to mess with and they’ll generally leave you alone.” 

He may have never had a hug in his whole life. (Except for Ubogin? And Kurapika took that away from him.) Nobunaga talks about his unloved childhood matter of factly in the same way as Killua would explain how to rip a heart from a man’s chest without spilling a drop of blood. Kurapika doesn’t ask any more questions. When he gets back to the clinic, he’s going to need a very long hug and be so, so grateful that he can have one whenever he wants. 

They meander through the commercial district, where Nobunaga points out the internet café, next to the bank frequented by Mafia associates which also serves as a sort of employment agency, post office and a source of news and rumors. Around that are various small storefronts and people idly leaning against buildings or sitting cross legged in the dust, offering various services like machinery repair, construction, security, information, beating people up for a cut of the spoils, and a marketplace for various salvaged parts, tools, clothing, sex (the oldest profession will thrive anywhere and everywhere), and dubious foods. There are roasted seagulls and crows, lizards fattened on buzzing flies, produce that’s only half rotten, and dented cans of expired food. Those who earn good Jenny can pay an exhorbitant fare to have fresh foods shipped to the bank for pickup. 

“Hey Ex-Chains-”

“Please don’t call me that.” 

What does he even call this guy now? Hey you with the eyes? Yeah that would piss him off. Kurapika just seems so- I dunno. Stiff. “Hey Piano Fingers, I’ve been wondering. What have you been up to all these years?” 

Kurapika allows the new nickname with a small smile. “I’ve been hunting.” He supposes he still is, in a way, searching for his next passion in life. 

“Did you find what you were looking for?” 

“Yes, and then some.” He set out to recover the Scarlet Eyes of his kin. He found Gon and Killua and Senritsu and the entire Paladiknight clan, of which he is proud to be a new member. “But the more I find, the more there is to discover.” 

“Well that’s reassuring. I think the thing that scares me the most is the day I realize I’ve already seen and done everything.” Having to slow down and face less challenging opponents, and spending so much time hanging around guarding stolen loot has given Nobunaga a lot of time to think lately. Much more than the thrill, the fights, the goods and the money, Nobunaga finds he values the company of his partners in crime more than ever, Machi and Phinx and Feitan going the longest way to filling the void where Ubogin used to be. “Maybe I’m getting old.” 

*

A is for acid burns! 

B is for blood loss! 

C is for cholera, campylobacter, and clostridium difficile! Pick your food poisoning. 

D is for dehydration! 

E is for equipment failure. 

An MRI well past its best before date? Ha ha just kidding, not even the resourceful residents of Meteor City can figure out how to salvage and maintain anything _that_ fancy. You’re lucky if you can get an X-ray and film to develop the image on. The EEG machines fail to turn on half the time, and one can only hope that the flickering fluorescent UV lights in the disinfection cabinets still have some juice left in them. 

F is for fever; G is for gangrene; H is for heavy metal toxicity; I is for injury, so much injury of every possible flavor; J is for jaundice…

Leorio knew to expect a challenging work environment, but goddamn was he ever naïve. In spite of generous funding from the mafia, the Meteor City Emergency Clinic is constantly running out of the most basic supplies. Gloves, masks and gowns are hard to come by; _clean_ ones especially so. The same goes for bandages, gauze, IV fluids and needles. Don’t even get him started on disinfectants. Half the time he has to use a sweep of his Disinfection Beam just to get access to a sterile working surface and tools. The other half, he is using Palpitation as the fastest and most efficient diagnostic tool at his disposal. Forget vaccines and anaesthetics. Your best hope for any sort of medication in this place is a deadly cocktail of expired painkillers, moonshine and illegal drugs, as likely to take you out of your misery permanently as it is to numb the pain for a while. 

Leorio spends his whole day trying to block out the screams of patients languishing in other rooms. Several hours later he misses his third incoming text from Kurapika, finally snapping out of the fog to the sound of his ringtone. By the time he scrambles through washing the blood off his gloves, properly disposing of them, washing his hands again and drying them off, the line is already long dead and off to voicemail. Damnit. He sighs. Well, it’s probably time to call it a day anyhow. Leorio is tired and wound up like a spring. Waving courage to the other volunteers, he makes his way back toward the lobby. He is about to return the call when Kurapika dials him again. This time Leorio picks up on the first ring. 

“Are you okay?” 

“Sorry, I was elbow deep. You?” 

“I could use a hug,” Kurapika admits quietly into the phone. 

“God, same. Let me get changed first.” 

“Are you sure you want to bother? We’re going dumpster diving.” 

“We’re what?” 

“Local custom.” 

*

“You stink,” remarks Leorio with the utmost affection. He has changed back into the scrubs he arrived in; that way the outdoor pathogens stay outside and the ones from the clinic stay inside. 

“So do you.” Not that it makes Kurapika any less reluctant to let go. 

“Have you eaten anything?” 

“No, I’m not quite sure what’s safe yet.” 

“That’s actually a good call. You don’t want to know how many cases of food poisoning I’ve seen in just one day. I bartered my services for a few cans that are only a little bit expired- definitely still fine, trust me on this, my family has had to live on food bank food before- and some clean water. Actually I didn’t want any sort of compensation but my patients and colleagues insisted, and anyway this is one place where you really can’t eat money. I haven’t forgotten where I come from enough to turn up my nose. It’s going to be a bit of a rough dinner but it’s better than nothing.” 

Inventory: Lima beans, boiled new potatoes, canned peaches in syrup. That’s… a sort of balanced diet, right? Kurapika is sure he has never bought any of these from the store. “Could we at least heat it up?” 

“Newspaper burns too fast and plastic makes toxic smoke. I would advise against it since we didn’t show up with our own gas masks.” 

“Not much chance of a campfire then. Oh well, I suppose it could be worse. We have to start from somewhere. If I could separate enough food scraps and newspaper from the rest, I could start a compost bin that won’t be as contaminated as the soil under all of these heaps of garbage. Some of this spoiling food must have seeds that are capable of sprouting in them, but it’s going to take a long time before I can hope to harvest anything.” 

“So you’re planning to build a garden?” 

“Eventually. It would be a nice way to permanently leave this place better than when we arrived. First I’d like to start with four walls, a roof and a floor, just so we have somewhere…cleaner to sleep than out in the open.” 

“Sure, but let’s eat something first.” They find a rusted I-beam to sit on, side by side. Leorio sanitizes both of their hands, then lops off the tops of the cans with a nen portal. Holding the lids, they drain off the excess water. It’s a bit awkward passing the cans back and forth, pouring lima beans into their mouths without any eating utensils; Kurapika instantly decides that he hates lima beans but he suffers through them anyway, grimacing through the dry, mealy texture in his mouth like this is some sort of endurance test. Leorio almost chokes on a mouthful trying not to laugh. 

“Ugh.” Swiping Leorio’s water bottle out of his hands, Kurapika takes a long swig to wash the taste out of his mouth. He hands the water back to Leorio, vigorously shaking his head. “Never get lima beans again.” 

“Yes, dear. Potato?” 

Glaring at Leorio’s amusement at his expense, Kurapika nearly bites his fingers off along with the tiny potato proferred between them. This is ridiculous (and it’s a little embarrassing having Leorio hand feed him in public), but at least the potatoes taste far more palatable than the lima beans. Dripping with syrup, the sliced peaches look slightly obscene. Too sweet for Kurapika, but he can revel in the victory of wiping that grin off Leorio’s face with his lips and tongue. Make him squirm a little. Who’s a dear now? When he’s sure no one else is looking, Kurapika lets his half-lidded eyes flash crimson for a second. By the time he blinks it away, the color has plastered itself tidily across Leorio’s cheeks. 

“Hey. Uh. Does anyone have a use for these empty cans?” 

Kurapika smiles, allowing the unsubtle change of subject. After all, it’s not like they can find any privacy just yet. “I’ve seen some people sprout little seedlings in them or use them for cigarette butts. We’re in a garbage dump, Leorio. We can leave them here. Someone will find them if they need them.” 

In this patch of the dump, the piles of trash have already been picked clean from any scraps of food, salvageable parts and machinery, leaving behind little more than construction debris. It’s perfect for Kurapika’s construction project. After setting the cans down out of the way, Kurapika and Leorio set to work sorting the wreckage of rusted steel beams, cinder blocks, pieces of brick, crumbled drywall, broken concrete and rebar into separate piles. 

Eyeing the twisted and bent rods of rebar gives Kurapika an idea. After using his nen cloth to shove aside a large pile of trash to make a large enough clear patch of ground to work on, Kurapika uses his ribbon to crumble the remaining concrete off the pieces of rebar, straightens the bent metal into separate lengths of rod, and begins jabbing them in to the ground deep enough to stand on their own. Gradually Kurapika creates a rectangular outline, bending and twisting it into the shape of a decorative fence with its own curved swinging gate. Taking pieces from the pile of broken bricks and concrete, Kurapika smooths off the rough edges, compacts them into the dirt, and forms a cheerful, narrow cobblestone path leading to where the door is supposed to go. 

“Okay now you’re having way too much fun with this.” 

“What, exactly, is the problem with that, Leorio?” 

“Exactly nothing.” 

All smiles now, they drive lengths of I-beam into the ground together to form the doorway. As Kurapika continues with his cobblestone pattern to form a tiled floor for their little one room house, Leorio sets to work laying down the first layer of a cinder block wall. Catching on instantly, Kurapika finds a cracked plastic bucket and fetches some filthy well water from the nearest community pump to mix up some mud to use as plaster. Flat pieces of scrap aluminum are repurposed as hand trowels. When they run out of cracked cinder blocks, the next layer of wall becomes brick. After that, Kurapika starts laying out pieces of I beam side by side, using them as molds to form new bricks from an aggregate of mud and broken concrete. 

Night has fallen, and all they managed to build so far was a third of a wall. Whoops, there goes that plan. The mud plaster was going to take too long to dry before it was usable anyway. By an unspoken agreement, Kurapika and Leorio set out to search for a big enough piece of tarp, cloth or sheet metal to make their unfinished walls into a temporary lean to for the night. Among the fresh garbage heaps at the edge of the suburbs, Leorio comes across an entire bundle of discarded used clothing too big for even the first takers to carry away all at once. Lucky find! This will make for a nice, soft, not too dirty layer of bedding. By the time he’s back at the construction site, Kurapika has hauled corrugated piece of metal over the partial wall, creating a low crawl space underneath. Inside, it’s dark and close and a little bit drafty. Kurapika snuggles close to Leorio for warmth as much as for comfort. They’re both going to have to remember not to try to sit up. 

“Well this is cozy.” 

“I feel like a raccoon.” 

“How was your tour with Nobunaga, by the way?” 

“Fascinating, really. They’ve built so much from nothing here it borders on the miraculous. Did you know the cathedral at the center of town has an organ in it?” 

“They built an _organ_?”

“It’s _gigantic_ and it sounds like the growl from the belly of an infernal beast.” 

“You _played_ it?” 

“I may have sight read a little…”

“Damn, and I missed it.” 

Suddenly Kurapika lowers his voice to barely more than a whisper. “Nobunaga asked me to play again… for Kuroro.” 

“Seriously Kurapika? I leave you alone for one day-”

Leorio is not very good at keeping his volume down. Kurapika has to lay his fingers across Leorio’s lips for a moment as a gentle reminder. “Leorio, if you still worry that at any moment the earth might swallow me up and I haven’t told you where I’m going and my phone keeps going to voicemail, then I apologize a thousand times for hurting you that way. I will promise you again that I won’t disappear on you. I haven’t gone yet. From what Nobunaga told me, it sounds like the rest of the Troupe isn’t in Meteor City at the moment, although I haven’t broached the subject with him yet. I’m still trying to decide how I feel about it.” 

“Alright. Do you want me to come with you this time?” 

“I knew you were going to ask that. My answer is no, and I hope you don’t take this the wrong way because I’ve spent a long time turning it over in my mind. Your portals would be useful in a pinch for a fast escape route, but the range is too limited for you to stay out of their En. We’ll be outnumbered either way. For moral support it’s already enough that you’re here. As a show of good faith, it’s better if I go alone. I’ve decided to trust Nobunaga and I plan to follow through.” 

“What will you do if they attack you?” 

“Honestly? Teacup and run.” 

“You can capture _the entire Ryodan_ at once?” 

“If I can pull off keeping my eyes brown while I’m surrounded by spider tattoos and my heart is pounding like crazy, then yes.” 

“Jesus. That’s a bitch of a nen condition, Kurapika.” 

“I know. It has to be, or else it would never have enough power to work. However, the maximum amount of time I can maintain the nen space is divided by the number of people inside, so worst case if they have replaced all former members and all of them arrive at once, that leaves me about thirteen minutes to escape. Eighteen or twenty if I dip into my jar of pinwheel jam beforehand to take back some of my stored nen. Thirteen headed dragon with Emperor Time is my backup plan in case Teacup shatters, but I’m really not here for a fight. I’ve put all of that behind me.” 

“When are you going?” 

“First I have to wait until the core members of the Troupe get here. I’ll be keeping in touch with Nobunaga until then. I’m not really concerned with talking to anyone who wasn’t there when we were in York Shin because I have nothing to forgive them for. After that I don’t know. I may decide I have all the courage I’m ever going to build up tomorrow, or I may want to absorb more of the way of life here first, to understand as much as I can. It’s too much to take in. Did you notice all of the children, Leorio?” 

“Can’t really help noticing they’re all over the place, yeah.” 

“They don’t have _families_ , Leorio. None of them. Not now, not then, not _ever_. That means Nobunaga, Kuroro, Feitan, _all_ of them- the sheer _scale_ of it… when I try to imagine what my childhood would have been like if I _never_ had parents, or a community, or a roof over my head, or if I constantly had to worry where I was going to steal my next meal from- to spend an entire _life_ without ever knowing love and safety and the value of a life… to imagine that that are children out there right now who had it _worse_ than I ever did- I don’t have enough words, Leorio. How are they alive? How do they look so _happy_? All I can picture is a big black wall of emptiness.” 

Kurapika is inorexably, visibly becoming upset, a flood of fire engine red surging into his eyes. All Leorio can do to comfort him is to gather him into his arms and let him keep talking through his anxious stream of disorganized thoughts. 

“Knowing all of the horrible things the Ryodan has done, and all the horrible things that were done to them, and that both of these things can and must be true- it’s like there’s this unconquerable chasm in my mind. I can’t reconcile the adult with the child, the human with the monster, the pain with the sympathy. Isn’t it hypocritical? Wasn’t I done with this? I thought I already took ownership of my own adulthood and childhood, my own humanity and the red-eyed monster, the pain that I have personally caused, and allowing myself the same kindness I would show for my friends? Why do I instinctively want to reject it when I see two sides of the same coin in someone else?” 

“Healing doesn’t always go in a straight line, Kurapika. Give it time. Anyone would struggle to accept two opposing sides of the same person. Most people take the easy way out and pick the side that fits the best with their existing biases. You didn’t. You know exactly how hard forgiveness is. Think about how far you’ve come to recognize that there _are_ two sides, and how much effort you’re putting in now to accept both of them. I think it’s very brave of you. Sometimes you don’t know you’ve made more room in your heart until it gets bruised.” 

He’ll call Doctor Barbadens later. For now, it’s been long enough that Kurapika forgot how refreshing it feels to cry himself to sleep on Leorio’s shoulder. He wakes up in the morning with a fierce craving for ice cream. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For anyone who is curious, Kurapika's accidentally discovered cooking nen ability works as follows:
> 
> \- Kurapika's cooking absorbs more of his nen the harder he works on it / the more time he spends on it.  
> \- Kurapika's cooking only begins to absorb his nen if he throws his whole heart into cooking. Tends to work best with traditional Kuruta recipes, especially if Kurapika goes to the trouble to make sure he can get a hold of the *right* ingredients even when it's a pain in the ass.  
> \- Whoever eats it later gets that energy back in the form of raw nen, including if Kurapika eats it himself. It boosts raw nen power and mood and reduces fatigue.  
> \- The effect lasts as long as 1/3 of the amount of active time Kurapika spent cooking, collecting or preparing ingredients.  
> \- The amount of energy someone gets from eating it depends on how much nen was in the food and how much they ate.  
> \- Kurapika's nen will wear off of the food if it's spoiled / no longer safe to eat. Not that the leftovers ever last that long.
> 
> P.S. I hate lima beans.


	9. Illustrations

We interrupt this program to bring you illustrations from the previous chapters!

Kurapika hanging out at Senritsu's post being able to heal her scars. Body positivity! You rock that sleeveless dress!

[Caption: Kurapika and Senritsu sharing the earbuds of a music player, smiling with their eyes closed. They mirror each other, both waving a finger in the air to the beat. Sensirtsu is wearing a white sleeveless dress with the beginning of the flute cotta for Smetana's Moldau forming a stripe across her abdomen. She has her red hair piled up into a fancy curl on top of her head, bundled up in a green head scarf. Kurapika is dressed in dark blue Kuruta robes, decorated with gold patterns. There is a wire music stand and a bass in the background, propped up on a parquet floor.] 

What could they be listening to? I have a few ideas.

[-The sexiest bari sax solo ever [Maynard Ferguson - Coconut Champagne]](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fwjw9G9ZIcM)

-[Tank! From Cowboy Bebop](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=n2rVnRwW0h8)

-[Brahms Hungarian Dance No. 5 except the non stuffy orchestra version that actually has a beat you can dance to](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=97OxsGYeHMY)

-[Probably not Katamari on the Rocks, but this song never fails to cheer me up](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iMH49ieL4es)

Crowd surfing:

[Caption: Kurapika, Something (Nanika) and Ikalgo crowd surfing at a metal concert. Kurapika's eyes are scarlet because he is having an illegal amount of fun. He is flashing the devil horns. Kurapika is wearing a black tank top borrowed from Killua, and grey skinny jeans- also borrowed from Killua and too long for him- rolled up at the ankles over dark blue flat shoes. He didn't happen to have any other shoes on him than Kuruta footwear on this vacation. Something / Nanika is wearing light blue jeans and a black leather jacket decorated with a colorful assortment of pins, including a trans flag, a smiley face, a peace sign, a skull and crossbones, a red heart, a rainbow and a pink female symbol. She has her hair up in a long braid.]

Taking Truffles the Emotional Support Chicken for a joyride:

[Caption: Kurapika is riding his pet piko and faithful mount Truffles in full gallop, whipping up a cloud of brown dust in their wake. Leorio is sitting in the saddle behind him, clinging to his waist while struggling to keep his tiny sunglasses from falling off. Leorio looks mildly alarmed. Kurapika's scarlet eyes are lit up with wicked glee. MOVE BITCH, GET OUT THE WAY. To top it all off they're all wearing yellow fabric with black polka dots- Kurapika's Kuruta trousers match Leorio's tie and the head kerchief over Truffles' fluffy black feathers.]

Kiss The Chef

[Caption: A small two frame comic. Leorio sneaks up from behind, startling Kurapika as he nuzzles up against his neck. Leorio is wearing a mischievous smile and a white collared shirt. Kurapika's expression is one of scarlet-eyed surprise, a blush spreading across his cheeks. Kurapika is wearing his Kiss The Chef apron over a light green Kuruta training outfit, which I suppose is basically the equivalent of lounging around the house in sweatpants for him. In the second panel Leorio is kissing Kurapika's neck, the mischievous smile replaced by a more serious expression. Kurapika looks back at Leorio with half-lidded eyes, smiling as he tilts his head away just so. The blush on his face deepens. Yeah, he's into it.]

Fuck off, Hisoka. Nobody invited you.

[Caption: Kurapika, dressed in his maroon wedding attire, unceremoniously dumps Hisoka over the edge of a cliff after the party is over. His eyes are brown and he looks annoyed. Kurapika is flipping Hisoka off; his right middle finger is the origin of his ornately decorated Teacup nen, decorated with blue and gold floral patterns with a leaping dolphin for a handle. If Izunavi were around for this exchange, he would think the Teacup is about a hundred times gayer than Kurapika's silk ribbon nen abilities. If only it were that easy to get rid of him. Hisoka is already sticking a piece of his Bungee gum to the clifftop with which to haul himself back up. Hisoka is wearing a suit in an eye searing shade of purple that really doesn't go with his flame orange hair. Apparently being trapped in an empty nen space with nothing but a slice of wedding cake for the past three hours was not enough to wipe the grin off his face.]


	10. The Foxbear of Meteor City

Their little one room house was a fun project, but the instant it’s finished, Kurapika is already dreaming bigger. If other people can build entire apartment complexes out of trash, what’s going to stop him from doing the same? Well for one thing there’s the flash flood season Nobunaga warned him about, and for another there are international building codes Kurapika is pretty fuzzy on. Just because this town is completely lawless and functions on pure trial and error doesn’t mean it’s a smart idea to reinvent the wheel. While Leorio if off being a doctor, still pursuing his dreams in a straight line, Kurapika hits the metaphorical books in the internet café downtown, trying to remember everything he ever crammed into his head about structural engineering and architecture as a knowledge-obsessed teenager. The internet is a wild, beautiful, dangerous place. When Kurapika stops to consider how many entire libraries he has access to at the command of a few keystrokes, it never fails to boggle his mind. 

Many sketches and calculations later, Kurapika finally has a plan he’s satisfied with. His design is probably overkill, but it’s not like he’s ever going to run out of free garbage building it. He sets to work clearing a much larger level space than he needed for the little one room house, using his Teacup as a giant scoop to move trash out of the way- larger on the inside than it is on the outside. It also comes in handy for excavating the foundation. Kurapika finds his Teacup much faster, lighter and easier to use on objects than people. Trash doesn’t have nen. Dirt doesn’t fight back. Neither of them make him lose his temper. Actually this is pretty relaxing. Without even realizing it, Kurapika begins to sing a few snatches of Kuruta folk songs under his breath as he works, until Leorio comes back and starts humming along to the melody beside him. 

“Welcome home, Leorio.” And that’s a wrap. Now he’s definitely too distracted to get any more work done for the day- probably for the best before he gets carried away with his nen. “If I teach you the words, will you sing them to me?” It’s like hearing him say ‘I love you’ in Kuruta all over again. Kurapika’s heart is too busy doing somersaults to let him feel self conscious. 

“As if I could say no to anything when you look at me like that. Might take me a while, Pika.” 

“We have time.” 

“Quite an impressive hole in the ground you’ve got there. Building something big?” 

“I want to try for a three story structure, like those apartments. Part of it will be a living space, because there is always a need for more and better housing. As for the rest- you know what this place needs?” 

“Free contraceptives?” The situation is even worse than all the children playing in the rubble and refuse would suggest- Leorio has gone to visit some of the people who can’t make it to the clinic on their own two feet and seen an ugly reminder of just how bad poverty can get. Teenage pregnancy. Mothers with ten hungry mouths to feed and another on the way, unable to support any of them. Infant and maternal mortality. Abandonment, exploitation and infanticide. Children with so little muscle on their skeletons that they can’t get up anymore, and the few good parents who decided to keep them going hungry for a lost cause. 

“Food that isn’t half rotten? Safe drinking water and basic sanitation? Medical supplies? Environmental regulations? Money to fund it all?” 

“Oh that’s the easy part. Finally a good use for all my mafia funds.” 

“Seriously? By yourself?” 

“Of course not. I can think of a few strings to pull to get things started, and I’m sure a little research will uncover as many more as I need.” 

“What are you going to build then?” 

“A library.” 

“Oh. I really should have guessed that one. Good luck finding any books when people burn them for cooking fire.” 

“I’m willing to bet that’s because most of the locals can’t read. How are they meant to advocate for themselves if they don’t have access to an education? It’s about more than the books, Leorio. It’s about community. I want to build a place where everyone is welcome.” 

“ _Everyone?_ ”

“Everyone.” 

“Even the Ryodan?” 

Kurapika’s breath catches in his throat for a long, uncomfortable moment. Finally he lets out a deep sigh and begrudgingly nods his head. “This is _their_ home turf. I don’t have any right to kick them out even if I wanted to. I suppose if… when it comes to that, I’ll have to try my utmost to keep it civil.” 

“Will you be okay?” 

“I don’t know, Leorio, but if I watch all these children trying to scavenge food from garbage and I become the ten million and first person to decide that it’s not my problem- _especially_ now that I have the money, strength and influence to do something about it- then I’ll live the rest of my life knowing I’m just as selfish as any greedy, thieving billionaire I’ve ever had the displeasure of dirtying my hands with in the mafia. You know what I realized about the Ryodan? In a twisted way, they had to make their own village because otherwise they would have nothing. No one who cares, nowhere to feel safe, no sense of control over their lives. As along as all these children have to look forward to in life is garbage, there will always be another Ryodan in ten, twenty years. I can and will do better. I’m done getting tangled in the weeds. It’s time to attack the roots.” 

“Geeze, Kurapika. You really don’t fuck around.” 

“Are you surprised? You cured Zobae. You’re giving away medical care for free. I could spend an eternity playing catchup and I’ll never feel like my heart is as big and warm and open as yours. If anything I should have come to my senses and followed your example sooner.” 

***

Water is essential for life, and Kurapika point blank refuses to steal it from someone else’s mouth. There has to be a better way. How do other cities do it? Kurapika looks up water and wastewater treatment in the internet café, and soon he is falling down the rabbit hole of sample government contracts and all kinds of technologies and processes he never knew existed. Once again Kurapika finds himself expanding his vocabulary: words like reservoir, retention pond, flocculation, clarification, anaerobic digestion, rotating biological contactor, microfiltration, desalination and reverse osmosis slot themselves into an entirely new filing cabinet in his brain. All of it looks big and expensive, with construction timelines spanning from months to years. Astronauts recycle all of their wastewater, unable to take any more with them to space. _Fascinating_. How lucky he was to have taken it for granted, once upon a time, that he could simply draw up a bucket from the well and it would be safe to drink, or afterward that he could turn a tap without thinking twice about where that water came from and how it made it to his tea kettle. 

In over his head? Never. Kurapika knows a certain mafia boss who owes him a favor, who golfs with a lobbyist, who can pressure a world leader, who can put a good word in with the International Development Fund. As long as they can provide the expertise and the necessary approvals and oversight, Kurapika can provide the money and set up a company to manage operations for at least the next ten years. A few thinly veiled threats in the right places will go a long way toward making sure the money doesn’t evaporate into bribes and offshore accounts, leaving behind a half constructed shell and a paper trail of dashed hopes. 

Wait. This bullshit again. Honestly what else is Kurapika supposed to do? In Meteor City, the only organization is organized crime. You can try to quit the mafia, but the mafia will never quit you…

This is going to take too long. The people of Meteor City need more water _now_. In the mean time, to get construction started faster, Kurapika leaves the internet café and starts asking around the market square and the existing distillation plant for locals who are able and willing to build and operate a second one if the pay is enough to make it worth their while. 

Then of course they’re going to need more electricity to run the thing. Kurapika starts seriously looking into solar power like his guide keeps insisting on. Do any of these companies have off spec panels that they were just going to throw away? How about used ones that were out of service? What about batteries? What about electrical engineering and controls and wiring? He picks up his phone and places a call. 

“Hey, Killua.” 

“Hey, Kurapika. ’Sup?” 

“Would you like to help me build a new solar farm in Meteor City?” 

“Okay first of all, what the fuck? Second of all, hell yeah. I hope you have a lot of free time on your hands, because I’m not going to stop pestering you until you explain exactly what you’re up to.” 

“Good, because I was hoping you happened to have enough free time on your hands to listen to another one of my devious plots.” 

Kurapika is going to need his laptop shipped to him from storage. He can feel another book coming on. _This Is Where Your Garbage Goes._

***

Construction comes together in a snap. Killua told Alluka everything, Alluka called Gon, and before long friends and soon-to-be-friends are descending on Kurapika from all sorts of wild and distant places to chip in with some muscle and elbow grease. He reacquaints himself with some of the Chimera Ants and meets a few more. Meleoron drops by for a friendly chat. Ikalgo lends six arms and two legs to the cause. While Reina smiles shyly and rolls her eyes, Colt gripes Kurapika’s ears off, woefully suffering from an empty nest now that his sister Reina is all grown up. Reina has rapidly blossomed into a warm, kind young woman, still shy and terribly self-conscious about her appearance but always ready to help others without even being asked. They also brought along their frail, gentle human mother who can hardly bear to let them out of her sight, and Brovura, a tall lobster-like amalgamation who unwittingly became like a protective older brother to the family and their village. 

Kurapika meets a pink koala in a suit and tie whose name he didn’t quite catch- an acquaintance of Kite’s who now feels responsible for their wellbeing ever since Kite unwillingly landed in a new body. He reminds Kurapika of himself in a lot of ways. The short, cuddly exterior belies a hardened ex-mafia hitman who has seen far too much. In this life he wants to atone for all the blood on his hands; looking out for Kite has only taken him part of the way there and he struggles to find a direction to go next. Though stoic and cyinical, Kurapika recognizes the ray of hope in the koala’s eyes and wished him the best of luck in anchoring himself to that lifeline. 

When the construction is finally finished, Kurapika hunts down enough supplies to cook a big meal and celebrate with everyone who chipped in to help. Surveying the structure, he is very pleased with the results. 

The first floor is the library, with rows of shelves and tables, chairs and cushions and big windows to let in plenty of light. Kurapika was eager to hire some locals to hook up the electrical wiring and an internet connection. As soon as that was ready it became worlds easier to resume teaching Kuruta language lessons to his book club scattered across the map. Procuring a handful of refurbished, patched-together desktop computers and a printer was easier than Kurapika was expecting; the locals really know their way around discarded electronics. Next he gets his hands on some books, starting from an overflow of donations that other libraries weren’t able to sell. It takes a while to skim and sort through them to toss aside the ones he deems truly terrible- let the locals use _those_ for fuel. The rest make it onto the shelves by author and by section. If only he had time to read them all. As for his own writing, well… not like Kurapika is going to advertise very loudly, but he’d like to have a few copies on hand for nostalgia if nothing else. Jammed into the heavy boxes of donations alongside paperbacks and hardcovers at random are a few boardgames and a mismatched set of classical music CDs. Not what he was expecting, but he’ll take them. Surely someone will want to play these sooner or later. 

The second and third floors are apartments, available for free for anyone who needs them- aside from the one Kurapika designated for himself and Leorio, of course. Furnishing it was a fun challenge. Nobody wants a disgusting, moldy, torn, bedbug-infested mattress from the dump, so Kurapika had to barter a hard for someone to find, refurbish, or build a sewing machine for him and find some scissors, needles and thread to work with. It didn’t have to be anything fancy, or even powered by electricity; he is perfectly comfortable with a treadle as long as it _works_. The rest was a matter of diverting more unwanted used clothing shipments from ending up in some other landfill where nobody was going to have a use for it. He took as much as he needed and left the remainder for others to scavenge. From there making textiles was simple. All he had to do was cut and sew the fabric into the right size, stuffing pillowcases with other scrap clothing to fashion them into pillows and something resembling a mattress. It’s nice to have a real bed again, with sheets and a blanket. Next after that were some fresh changes of clothing, a long overdue luxury that Kurapika is never going to take for granted again. Leorio has such a big, infectous smile upon receiving two new pairs of scrubs, it leaves Kurapika feeling warmer all day. 

Outside, Kurapika has built planters for a community garden, gradually filling them up with uncontaminated soil from the metal and plastic drums he repurposed into compost barrels. When he has enough soil, Kurapika starts experimenting with planting to see what will grow, squeezing seeds out of dubiously edible fruits and vegetabes before throwing the scraps into the compost. The garden is bordered by a community kitchen, with a brick oven and a series of low walls with built in cabinets to use as counter space and storage. Salvaged bowls, plates, cookware and cutlery are neatly stored away and ready to use; if anyone steals them Kurapika can just find or make some more later. 

Out of the entire structure, the part he is the most proud of is the outdoor kitchen sink. 

***

Food waste is everywhere if you know where to look, but somehow not nearly enough of it ends up _here_ , or by the time it does it’s already far too late to be of any use. It rots in farmers’ fields. It drops on the floor of a factory somewhere, suddenly deemed unsaleable even though it’s still perfectly fine. It expires on grocery store shelves, thrown out simply because nobody dares to buy it any longer. It goes stale in the bakery, one day old. 

Fortunately Kurapika happens to be a world class expert in logistical nightmares. 

*

He’s there to watch the first shipment at the docks with his own eyes. Apples: an entire ocean container full of them. A little bruised, a little misshapen, a little too small, but so much more nutricious than the liquefied goop that usually becomes of anything perishable by the time it makes it to these shores. Kurapika stands out of the way, unobtrusive and unnoticed, as the fruits roll onto the shoreline like a small miracle. The locals in their gas masks and hazmat suits stop tossing rocks at the seagulls and make a rush for this feast, gathering up as many apples as their arms, bags and nen can possibly carry. When the locals are done scrambling away, gone mad with their sheer good fortune, Kurapika quietly climbs aboard the barge and sends the driver off with a healthy tip before its departure. He scoops up some of the remaining apples with his Teacup, shrinks it to a size that will fit in his satchel, and saunters away with a mysterious smile of satisfaction. 

Back at the library, Kurapika unloads his apples in neat rows along the countertops. Free food, free books, free internet access. Now all he has to do is wait for people to show up. 

*** 

Slowly, cautiously, like stray dogs lured in by the smell of food, the children are the first ones to gather enough courage to approach. One by one they snatch a morsel and then make a mad dash out of sight, cramming as much as they can into their mouths mid-run while the larger, faster children give chase, trying to snatch a prize away from a smaller, weaker target. When no adults join in hot pursuit, they gradually grow bolder, filling up pockets and carrying away entire armloads of anything Kurapika leaves out on offer. Kurapika also grows bolder. At first he stays out of sight with piles of anything he can organize a shipment of, just sitting there waiting to be “stolen”. Later he stations himself at the nearest window, frowning as he observes the brutality these children inflict on each other from such a young age. He struggles to remain as unobtrusive as possible. He steps in to intervene only if it escalates beyond a minor scuffle, but every time he makes an appearance it scares all of the children away at once, the exact opposite of what he is hoping to achieve. Later he sits just outside of the door of the library and remains motionless. The children keep wary eyes glued to him as they creep closer, daring to take one handful at a time while staying far out of fighting range from each other. Good. They’re learning his rules. 

“Would you like to come inside? I’ve baked some fresh bread.” 

Too soon. But they’re _thinking_ about it. 

***

The locals are suspicious. The council hates him. Nobunaga thinks it’s hilarious. 

“Ah. The holy trifecta. Writing shit down, getting shit done, and disturbing shit.” 

Kurapika tosses him a grin and an informal salute on the way back into the council hall. He is dressed to the nines in a suit and tie. In the mafia, this is how you go to war. 

“Gentlemen. I bid you good morning.” 

“ _You_ again.” 

“My _name_ is Kurapika Paladiknight of the Kuruta Clan. It would do you well to remember it next time.” 

The Meteor City Elder Council bows their heads together and commences a round of disgruntled murmuring, occasionally casting a dirty look in Kurapika’s direction. Didn’t they send an entire team of their most ruthless assassins to dispose of him? He must be stronger than they realized. What’s his relation to the Genei Ryodan? All kinds of conflicting rumors are swirling around this man. They say he killed a member of the Ryodan, or possibly even two. They say he appears to be buddy buddy with at least one of them. They say he should have been dead more than a decade ago, during the massacre of the Scarlet Eyes. Kuruta Clan? Then is it true? They say he runs in high circles with the York Shin City mafia. They say he was seen sitting at a long table sharing an entire feast with a group of terrifying Chimera Ants. They say mysterious new shipments of nothing but food keep turning up anonymously at the docks, making their way to the mouths and bellies of the local residents and a scraggly group of children, and a fraction of it never fals to show up at the new library that no one has yet dared to set foot inside. The council will have to tread very carefully… 

“For the health and safety of our residents, I would like to put forward a motion to reject shipments containing hazardous waste.” 

“You can’t reject a shipment! Our motto in Meteor City is to accept everything as long as you take nothing away!” 

“Then there should be a separate designated area for hazardous shipments to keep the contamination out of our water supply. If you’re so strong and powerful, I don’t see why you can’t pressure other countries into paying a fine for taking dangerous goods off their hands. Why not make other countries sort their garbage while you’re at it, so the residents won’t have to search as hard to separate building materials from fuel and textiles for clothing? The money can go toward funding power generation and wastewater treatment, or even to sustain further shipments of fresh food and supplies. Your cooperation would be a great help to expand these services and improve the quality of life for your constituents.” 

“If everyone has access to clean water and fresh food, how do you propose we weed out the weak?” 

“If you truly accept _everyone_ in this city, then you will cease treating human beings like garbage effective _immediately_.” Kurapika threatens calmly, his voice taking on a steely edge. “Unless you would like me to weed out the weak _personally_.” He glances from one council member to the next, allowing scarlet to punctuate his gaze like a pair of excamation points. 

A fight breaks out, thirteen to one. Oh, now that wasn’t very wise, was it? The council let themselves be provoked so easily. Let’s add injury to insult, shall we? The local residents take bets, while Nobunaga leans back and cracks open a beer. Now _this_ is good exercise. He hasn’t had this much fun flexing his nen skills in ages. When he inevitably beats them soundly at their own game, Kurapika almost feels bad for these crotchety old men. Almost. 

***

Just as the youngest, most fearful children begin to crawl out of the woodwork, that’s when a handful of adults decide it’s safe for them to take charge. And that’s when things get ugly. 

Among the kicking and shouting and biting and utter chaos, an Ubogin-sized hulk of pure muscle chooses to pick on a scrawny little girl who looks like she belongs in preschool. With _nen_. As the girl shields herself in a wall of thorny vines conjured from her own mint green braids- _God_ , what must she have gone through to learn Hatsu at such a young age- the bully simply laughs and punts her aside like a rolling tumbleweed. Kurapika catches her out of the air, shielding her shivering body in his arms as a crimson glow flares into his eyes. Kurapika’s blood is at a rolling boil, singing in his ears, staining his entire field of vision. Violence. Loathing. _Rage_. Kurapika’s aura bursts into a towering whirlwind of dark red hellfire around him, driving icicles of fear through every heart it touches. His golden ribbon snakes outward like a bolt of lightning. No escape. Not a single bully makes it two steps before they end up hoisted off the ground by their necks like a string of fairy lights. 

“Where do you get off, you COWARDS! You will _not_ harm these children.” Rationality is starting to creep back in surprisingly quickly; Kurapika switches briefly to Kuruta when he realizes he’s about to let loose a real scorcher of a curse where it can be heard by innocent ears. “ _You putrid, oozing pustules on the ass of a bedbug! May your testicles be clawed out by vultures._ ” Okay that’s enough. Get a hold of yourself, Kurapika, these are dime store villains we’re dealing with here, not an actual threat. “ _Out._ All of you get _out_ of my sight before I throw you to the other end of the dump.” He finally remembers to let them breathe. They struggle free from his loosened grip, staggering away as fast as their uncooperative legs can carry them. 

Some of the children run away after the adults. Some are frozen in their tracks. Some begin to cry. “Not you, young ones. As long as I’m here you’re under my protection; I swear it on the blood of my ancestors. I understand if you’re too scared to come any closer. I won’t push you. You’re welcome back tomorrow, next week, anytime. When you’re ready, I’ll be here.” 

Realizing he must be frightening her, Kurapika lets go of the little girl. All of the red bleeds out of his eyes. All of the anger has faded from his voice, leaving behind soft uncertainty. “Did I hurt you?” 

She shakes her head vigorously, burying her face into the front of his cloak and soaking it in snot and tears. 

“Does it hurt anywhere?” 

No. 

“That’s good at least. Are you scared?” 

Yes. 

“Is it okay if I hug you?” 

She _clings_. Suddenly the ice has been shattered forever. The remaining children edge closer, wiping eyes and noses on sleeves. Ushering them all in with a welcoming gesture, Kurapika gathers more of them into his arms than he can possibly hold all at once. Nobody seems to mind. Kurapika doesn’t move from his crouching position until his legs begin to fall asleep. 

“Alright, who’s hungry?” 

*

Kurapika thought this was going to be like volunteering in the pediatric ward at York Shin General. Kurapika was wrong. All _those_ children needed was some cheering up while their family wasn’t available to visit, even if it was only for a few hours in a day. _These_ children need a hot meal; clothes that aren’t too small for them, scuffed and riddled with holes; a bath and a haircut; love and attention; someone who will teach them how to read; a bodyguard; and a nen master on top of everything else. 

Uh. Is he doing this right? Dear God. Kurapika finds himself staring down the barrel of the most _powerful_ parental instincts he never realized he had, and they scare him out of his wits. It’s not as if Kurapika has ever read about this sort of situation in some kind of textbook. He tries to cast his memory as far back as it will go, to a hazy, distant time when his mother used to kiss the scrapes on his knees and tell him he was brave. What is he going to do? Should he ask for help? How is he going to explain all this to Leorio when he hasn’t even figured it out himself? Maybe this time Kurapika has finally bitten off more than he can chew, but he’ll be damned if he ever let a trivial thing like that stop him before. One step at a time, and everything just might turn out fine. 

First he learns their names. 

Ivy, with mint green braids over dark chocolate skin, has a nen affinity for nurturing growing plants. Kurapika shows her around the garden and helps her lift a heavy watering can. When she is feeling happy and relaxed, she likes to grow her long braids into a pair of jump ropes, singing in rhymes and stomping her feet as the other children pick up her hair and play. Zaky, a six year old with a mop of messy brown hair and a pair of overalls, devours every book Kurapika shows him in his eagerness to learn how to read. Then there are Lelanie, Tsubae, Nemina, Kaska, Feyra, Loni, Coin, Oleander, Bartlett, Daisuke and Greg, and the older children and teens who don’t drop by as often. 

Next, whenever Kurapika isn’t on the phone cajoling, warmongering and bargaining for more supplies, he devotes nearly all of his free time to his youngest library visitors, reading aloud, playing board games, genuinely laughing at terrible puns and knock knock jokes, sewing clothing and tiny aprons, and teaching them about nen and cooking and baking (sometimes accidentally at the same time). As night approaches, he abandons his poor husband in the cold without a blanket for an entire week (he needs to find the time to sew a few spares) while he lets the children sleep in a huddle all around him on the cushions and bean bag chairs in the library, long after the doors are officially closed. 

“Kurapika, are you alright? You’ve been acting so distracted lately, and I hardly even see you.” 

“I’m sorry my love, it’s through no fault of yours. Come downstairs with me and you’ll understand. I think it’s time for you to meet our very important library guests, Leorio. Give them lots of space and don’t make any sudden moves. These young children had some bad experiences with other adults and it took weeks before they began to trust me.” He has to hold separate opening hours to keep the assortment of anonymously masked adults checking out books in their hazmat suits well clear of the children until they regain their confidence and learn some more effective strategies to defend themselves. For now Kurapika is just going to have to trust the masked residents on good faith because has a hard time telling any of them apart. 

As soon as Kurapika makes it through the back entrance at the bottom of the stairwell, he is surrounded like a mother bird in a nest full of gaping, hungry mouths. 

“Can I have another cookie, Pika?” 

Every time he hears that nickname it shoots an arrow straight through his heart. At this rate he’s going to end up sewing enough child-sized traditional Kuruta robes and dresses to feel like he’s singlehandedly brought Lukso Province back to life. 

“Pika! What’s infinity plus one?” 

“Can you show me how to tie my shoelaces again, Pika? I forgot…”

“Pika, Pika, I have a joke! What did the tomato say to the bottle of ketchup? Nothing! Tomatoes can’t talk!” 

“Children, say hello to my husband Leorio. He is a nice doctor.” 

A chorus of “Hi, Io!” echoes around the room. 

“Leorio, I have a confession to make. I may have accidentally adopted them all…”

Leorio takes this all in his stride. Thankfully, so do the children. They seem to trust Leorio instantly. Maybe it’s because Kurapika is clearly so comfortable around him, or because of Leorio’s naturally gentle demeanor, or because Leorio grew up with so many younger siblings. Dropping a sudden bombshell into Leorio’s lap successfully morphs into a strange sort of family dinner and ends in a sleepover party, with both adults adults camped out in the children’s section of the library downstairs. After a day of excitement, the kids all drop off to sleep so quickly it’s like their lights have been switched off. 

“So I finally get my blanket back,” Leorio teases in a whisper. Suddenly the mysterious rumors going aroud the medical clinic about a fearsome entity the local residents have dubbed the Foxbear of Meteor City are starting to make a whole lot more sense. 

“I’m so glad you didn’t freak out. Sorry to drag you into all this. Don’t feel like you’re obligated to join me, just because I had to make a hasty decision. Up until very recently I was so sure I didn’t want children- or at least not if I passed on my eyes, but then when I saw these children being bullied I got so angry and I felt so _protective_ \- now I don’t know what I want and I don’t have time to think about it. That isn’t what’s important right now. It isn’t about me.” Kurapika’s defiant eyes contain the slightest hint of panic. “They needed _help_ , Leorio.” 

“I can see that, Kurapika. They’re adorable. _You’re_ adorable. I can’t get over the way your faces light up as soon as you catch sight of each other.” His own fondness for children aside, Leorio knew he was going to face a struggle with his priorities if he wanted to fit fatherhood into his future between being a doctor and a Hunter. “Thanks for inviting me along, I was beginning to feel left out. I’d like to be here sometimes, but I think you’re going to need help.” 

“I know, I know. I can’t be here all the time either, and I don’t intend to stay in Meteor City forever, but for right now I’ve never been more certain that I’ve made the right decision. One step at a time. I don’t want to startle them with too many new adults at once. Maybe I should ask Colt if he’s interested in reflling that empty nest of his.” 

“Hey, whatever happens, we’re going to find a way to make it work. _Properly_. Not like that scumbag Ging.” 

***

Strange. The Meteor City looks… cleaner somehow. More organized. Kuroro has never seen the locals in their hazmat suits this cheery and upbeat since the Ryodan took matters into their own hands and ousted a squadron of attacking Chimera Ants. It’s suspiciously quiet, with noticeably fewer children playing in the rubble along the walk in from the outskirts. Where could they have gone? 

“Hey guys. Welcome back, Boss! Boy have I got some big news for you. The chain user is right here in Meteor City.” 

Machi narrows her eyes. Phinx’s lips flatten into a straight line, downturned at the corners. Feitan quirks one eyebrow, instantly prepared to start tearing a few fingernails off. Tilting her head to one side like a confused pigeon, Shizuku draws a complete blank. 

Ah yes. Strikingly beautiful eyes burning with pure loathing, and a chain that was far too easy to yank. A great loss and a violent celebration. What a shame… These things happen sometimes; life is so short. This could either be amusing or go horribly wrong. Kuroro focuses all of his attention on Nobunaga with an air of keen interest, one arm folded across his chest and one finger throughtfully resting on his chin. “Kurapika? I remember him very well.” 

“Yep, same guy. But get this, he doesn’t use chains anymore. He pointed his Judgement Chain at me and it totally crumbled to shit right before my eyes. Now I can do whatever the fuck I want without getting stabbed.” 

“He attacked you?” 

“Hah! I wish. Stuffy asshole drops all kinds of hints at me but he won’t let me spar. His aura is strong as fuck. Watching him beat up the entire Elder Council with nothing but silk ribbons was the funniest shit I’ve ever seen.” 

“Then I take it you didn’t attack him either.” 

“Nah, I think he likes me now. Dunno if he’d admit it if you straight up asked him to his face, but I knew I was right about trusting him. So I offered to take him on a tour around the city. Not only did he accept, he straight up fucking sat at the organ in the cathedral and _played_ it like he owns the place. You have got to hear this.” 

Kuroro holds up his index finger, placing Nobunaga’s train of conversation on pause. He isn’t naïve enough to assume that the chain user’s changed demeanor makes him any less of a threat. The new abilities are likely to conceal a wildcard, and if he has greater control over his anger now it will be much harder to manipulate him into a series of bad decisions in a fight. One key piece of information is missing: Why is Kurapika here? 

“Was he alone?” 

“The locals said he showed up with a tall guy, some doctor.” 

“Thank you, Nobunaga. Shalnark?” 

“Yes, boss!” 

“This warrants further investigation. What new information can you find about Kurapika on the Hunter website?” 

A little typing on his laptop and- “Recently married, co-authored a cookbook with Menchi the Gourmet Hunter. He is also the author of three other books published under the pseudonym Ari Pikorider. All that is publicly available on Google.” All of the assembled Spiders except for Nobunaga, who has already seen the supporting evidence with his own eyes, and Shalnark and Kuroro, who are too cynical to be surprised by anything, find this new information difficult to process. Looks like the Paladiknight family wasn’t too careful about posting wedding photos all over Facebook. Sure they were supposed to be for friends only, but getting around those settings is child’s play. Kurapika looks so _happy_ he’s almost unrecognizable. 

“Well done. I shall have to congratulate him.” 

“Hey I recognize that guy! He was the loud, annoying one shouting into his phone in the lobby before the lights went dark.” 

“Is there any specific information you wanted me to pay for?” 

“See if you can track down his date of birth and his blood type.” 

“I’m on it.” That request takes a little more digging. A few million Jenny later, Shalnark finds a one night stay several years ago at York Shin General Hospital, leaked by the local mafia community. “April fourth, 1982. Blood type AB.” 

“Good work. Someone hand me a piece of paper.” Conjuring his book of stolen abilities, Kuroro flips to the Lovely Ghostwriter and copies down all the relevant information. His eyes glaze over. Glowing with aura, he falls into a trance and begins to write: 

Time heals all wounds  
Or at least that’s what they say  
You know every word is a lie  
Until you put the time in with your own hands

Lay down your sword  
Pick up your pen  
Get to work  
All these blank pages aren’t going to fill themselves

These books are long overdue; stolen, irreplacable  
Torn and missing pages rebound with care  
The librarian rereads a dog-eared passage  
And places it back on the shelf

Facing the dawn of the New Year  
Choose wisely between rage and reason  
For the Scarlet Eyes may yet close in slumber  
By the budding chrysanthemum

One man’s trash is another man’s treasure  
Or at least that’s what they say  
You know every word is the truth  
When you pluck tenacious weeds from acid soil

“How intriguing. Let’s pay this librarian a visit, shall we?” 

What, now? But they just got here. Nobunaga hangs toward the back of the group in uncharacteristic silence. Should he… should he warn him? His loyalty will all ways lie with the Ryodan first and foremost, but Piano Fingers is kinda cool and it would suck to see him die. Nobunaga has chosen to trust Kurapika, but he also trusts the Boss. If they can’t come to an understanding, at least it would be cool to see how they fight. Then if it comes down to a decision on whether to spare him or kill him, Nobunaga will dissent with the flip of a coin if he has to. And if that doesn’t work...well… you can’t fight fate. 

When they reach the library, the entrance appears to be deserted. 

_Please ring bell for assistance._

Someone has left a cookie jar unguarded at the corner of the circulation desk with a note scrawled in messy handwriting: 

_Take care not to get crumbs on our books. Thank you._

No self-respecting Meteor City native would turn down such a generous offer. Unless it’s a trap? 

“Shizuku, can you check for poison?” 

“Yes, Boss!” Poof. The sentient vacuum cleaner appears out of nowhere, rolling its friendly googly eyes and bearing a grinning set of razor sharp teeth. “Deme-chan, suck out the poison!” 

“Gyo-gyo-gyo…” Deme-chan sniffs hungrily, looking very disappointed. It disappears dejectedly in a cloud of smoke. Shizuku scratches her head and shrugs. 

Well in that case, why not raid the whole damned jar before someone else gets here? Kuroro snags a golden brown cookie decorated with a flower shape made from thin apple slices. It’s still warm, and it crumbles into nutty, delicious fragments in his mouth. He leans casually against the circulation desk and rings the bell for assistance. 

“I’ll be with you in a moment.” Kurapika emerges with an armful of picture books from a small room in the back, distracted by a gaggle of small children tugging at his sleeves and his robe from all sides. 

“Pika, what does this word spell?” 

“Read me another story, Pika!” 

“Pika, I want to play Snakes and Ladders!” 

“Can you sing about the birds in the forest again? Pretty please, Pika?” 

“Patience, my downy chicks. There’s only one of me. Wait your turn while I answer the doorbell.” 

Then he looks up. It’s a wonder his jaw doesn’t drop to the floor, the way he freezes on the spot with his cheeks going pale and his startled eyes blinking instantly to crimson. 

Kuroro gestures at him with half a cookie, the sun bitten into a crescent moon. “Do you happen to have a copy of Thirteen Headed Dragon by Ari Pikorider?” 

_This is how I die._ “Let me… go and… check.” The words barely make it past his teeth. 

“…Pika? But I thought the grown up books were the other way.” 

“Wow, cool! Can you shoot lasers out of your eyes like a robot!” 

“I think he’s really mad…”

“Hey mister, what does this word spell?” 

What in the seven shades of FUCK. He thought his heart was going to stop. Kurapika was absolutely NOT prepared for the sudden appearance of Kuroro’s smug face, a half eaten cookie and HALF HIS FUCKING ENTOURAGE right behind him. Brushing past the children like none of them are there, Kurapika beats a hasty retreat out the back door and scrambles out of hearing range in a valley between two large heaps of garbage. Was he followed? No? _Thank God._. With an unearthly howl of rage, Kurapika summons the biggest Teacup he can possibly conjure, shattering into a thousand pieces before he can even properly spike it into the ground. He stomps all over the fragments, jumping up and down, then violently kicks them out of the way until they crumble and disappear into a thin white mist. Rinse, repeat. (Thank you, Doctor Barbadens.) His shoulders are shaking. He might be hyperventilating a little. Kurapika starts counting in sets of four while he tries to remember how to breathe like a normal human again. 

“C-A-T spells cat,” Franklin explains to the runt who inexplicably chose his pant leg to tug on, of all people. 

“Well, that was entertaining.” Too easy. All Kuroro had to do to rile him up was to show his face. He is still quite fond of those ruby red eyes, and glad he gets to see them one more time. Admittedly they do look more beautiful on an expressive face than in a sterile jar. And yet- Kurapika chose not to start a fight. A smart move on his part, judging by his fortune, albeit an unsatisfying one. Nobunaga is right; he does have a very strong aura. He must have at least one ability worth stealing, or at least one that would be fun to measure up against. 

“Pfft.” Feitan snorts, disappointed that he has no one to play with. “You broke him.” 

Machi inspects her fingernails. “ _Why_ didn’t you rip his guts out with the Indoor Fish?” 

Kuroro shrugs. Didn’t feel like it; didn’t have it bookmarked. Anyway, if he does get to have a proper fight with Kurapika later, he only wants the odds to be slightly skewed in favor of a win. 

Phinx quirks one eyebrow. “Do you think he’s coming back?” 

“He will.” Less than a minute later, Shalnark is proven right. 

Kurapika trudges back to the library looking rather the worse for wear. He picks up a copy of his book and passes it to Kuroro in stunned silence. The counter of the Circulation desk makes for a very flimsy line of defense. 

“Perfect, thank you.” 

There are so many things Kurapika wants to say, if only his thoughts weren’t hopelessly scrambled. “…Are you actually going to read it?” That wasn’t one of them. Kurapika is not sure he wants to know the answer. 

“Of course I am.” 

Should he be flattered, horrified or disgusted? Neither- he should be _damned proud_ of himself, because suddenly the enormity of what he has just done is slamming into him like a ton of bricks. This isn’t a tiny, harmless, skittery eight-legged creature, this is the culmination of everything he has been working toward for _years_. _I didn’t squish it_. Kurapika is still alive and unharmed. This is it- the best outcome he could have hoped for. And there Kuroro is glancing at the blurb of a book Kurapika wrote, munching on a cookie Kurapika baked. This is _absurd._ Suddenly Kurapika can’t stop laughing, collapsing helplessly into the chair behind the Circulation desk as his irises flood with scarlet all over again. “Would you… would you like some tea with that?” He wheezes, wiping away tears. This time Kurapika steps out the front door, tea kettle in hand, and fills it up with water from the outdoor kitchen faucet. 

Feitan gives Kuroro a slightly bored side-eye. “You definitely broke him.” 

“Let me see that cookie jar.” Seting down a mismatched assortment of mugs, Kurapika snatches the jar out of Feitan’s hands and peers inside. “Empty. Just as I suspected. Well if this doesn’t constitute an emergency I don’t know what does.” Fuck it. Not only does Kurapika swap out the empty cookie jar with a _second_ one that was hidden behind the Circulation desk, he also breaks out a jar of spiral fruit jam and pops it open. Kurapika snags two cookies for himself, spreads a generous spoonful of jam on the bottom and sticks them together in a sandwich. Nevermind that the rest of his stash is about to be demolished in two seconds. He needs to tap into his stored nen just to cling to the last manic 5% charge in his cracked façade of politeness until the Spiders fucking _leave_.

Catching Nobunaga’s eye, Kurapika makes note of the slightly guilty expression on his face and the fact that he was the only one not holding a cookie. _Whatever, just **take** one already. You’re not my biggest problem right now._ He tilts the jar in Nobunaga’s direction and raises both eyebrows. 

The jam too? Uh. Okay. Not complaining. Then suddenly whatever Nobunaga just ate is kicking him in the brain. “What the hell did you put in this jam, a double shot of espresso?” 

“Language, Nobunaga. There are children present.” Regrettably, all the children of Meteor City are destined to be fluent in swearing by the age of eight whether Kurapika makes any move to try and stop it or not. “Pinwheel fruit. Homemade Kuruta recipe.” 

“You’re sh- kidding me.” 

“Also my nen.” 

Is that part of the recipe? Kuroro would love to find out. 

Nobunaga is floored. “ _Why_?”

“Because it would be rude to eat in front of someone without offering to share.” 

“Congratulations on your wedding, by the way.” 

If looks could kill, Kuroro’s head would be engulfed in flames by now. 

“Don’t worry, we know where to find your husband if we need him.” 

“ _Leave Leorio out of this._ I came to Meteor City to make our ceasefire into a truce. Do we have a deal?” 

Now Kuroro is impressed. Kurapika didn’t give in, even though he is visibly quaking with fury. “Very well, I accept. Apropos, have you ever considered joining the Genei Ryodan?” 

“Kuroro Lucifer of the Spider Clan, I would sooner gouge my own eyes out with a spoon.” 

*

“That went well!” 

“What was that all about?” 

“Hmm. A library… I think it would have made me happy if we had one of those when I was a child.” 

“Hey Boss, who taught you how to read?” 

*

“Now will you read me another story, Pika?” 

“I’m sorry, Ivy. It will have to wait until tomorrow. Pika has a headache.” 

Suddenly Kurapika finds himself enveloped in children frowning up at him with serious eyes. They climb into his lap, hug both arms and press their faces in against his waist. This is why he forced himself to choose forgiveness. As Kurapika surveys all of them, he finds a tired smile tugging at the corners of his lips. 

*

Leorio comes home to an apartment full of suspicious quiet. Nobody is home? No, that can’t be right. He can sense Kurapika’s nen. Maybe if he uses Gyo, the glow will make him easier to spot. 

_Oh._ There’s Kurapika’s Teacup nestled in the center of their makeshift bed, so small it’s nothing more than the size of a thimble. Laying down on his stomach to inspect it at eye level, Leorio gently picks it up between his thumb and forefinger and peers under the rim. “Kurapika? Is everything alright in there?” 

“No.” Answers Kurapika’s voice in the faintest, tiniest peep. Half a second later the Teacup disappears. A full-sized Kurapika materializes in its place, lying prone with his face buried in the crook of his elbows. Kurapika is so done, so tired. “Everything happens so much, Leorio.” He needed to shut out the world for a while, dulling all of his senses in a wash of gentle white ambient light. 

“Do you want to talk about it?” 

“Later.” 

“Anything I can do that will make you feel better?” 

“Hold me. 

*

Like hell he’s adding _that_ name to his contact list. It was hard enough forcing himself to ask Nobunaga for Kuroro’s number to make this awkward next step easier to coordinate. Kurapika has to eat another spoonful of jam straight from the jar to work up the will to type the first message. 

_Unknown number: We need to talk._

The reply comes back so quickly it’s like Kuroro was waiting for him. 

_Unknown number: I’m all ears._

He’s all too easy to visualize. What is it about Kuroro that still keeps getting under his skin in a way that Nobunaga doesn’t? It’s Kuroro’s casual nonchalance in the face of death and cruelty alike. It’s the way he feels like a pinned insect specimen when Kuroro’s eye sparks the slightest hint of interest in his general direction. It’s the way he likes to provoke a reaction on purpose without ever giving away his amusement with a change in his expression or in the inflection of his voice. Kurapika massages his temples, takes another deep breath and reminds himself that the longer he sits here fidgeting instead of getting this conversation over with, the longer this torture is going to take. 

_Unknown number: How long are you in town?_

_Unknown number: Oh, a week or two._

_Unknown number: Would you like to drop by and visit us tomorrow?_

Ugh, too soon. Kurapika is planning to spend the entirety of tomorrow trying to recover. He’s going to read stories to Ivy like he promised, and cook up another feast from scraps with the assistance of his tiny helpers, and get all of his thoughts in order, and probably throw an extra long nap in there somewhere for good measure. 

_Unknown number: Tomorrow doesn’t work for me._

_Unknown number: The day after then. First thing at nine?_

Yes, he’d better get this off his chest sooner rather than later. 

_Unknown number: I’ll clear my schedule._

_Unknown number: Nobunaga will escort you._

_Unknown number: Meet in front of the cathedral._

“Leorio.” 

He deserves an explanation. When Kurapika puts down his cell phone, his eyes are scarlet. He wonders if Leorio can hear his heart hammering from across the room. 

“Kuroro and six other Spiders showed up at the library unannounced today.” 

“Holy shit, Kurapika.” No wonder he was so upset. “I’m really glad to see you in one piece.” 

“I just about managed to keep my shit together. To their faces anyway. I had to step outside and scream for a few minutes just so I wouldn’t slip up and do anything _else_ I regret.” 

“The important thing is that you made it. That must have been so hard on you, Kurapika.” 

“I didn’t squish it,” Kurapika whispers with the ghost of a smile. 

“Hell yeah, you didn’t squish it. I’m proud of you.” 

“I’m proud of me, too.” 

“Did they fight you?” 

“No.” Kurapika deadpans. “We had tea and cookies.” 

After five solid seconds of staring at the incomprehension on Leorio’s face, Kurapika bursts into a fresh fit of giggles. 

“I’m seriously worried about you Kurapika. I still can’t tell if you were joking.” 

“I _wasn’t_ ,” Kurapika gasps. Can’t he see that’s why it was hilarious? 

Leorio places a hand on Kurapika’s forehead, checking for a fever and finding none. Force of habit. Kurapika yanks him down into a fierce kiss. 

“Hey. Did you remember to eat? Tea and cookies isn’t a real dinner.” 

***

Usually Kurapika is the first one on his feet at the crack of dawn, already running through a million things on the to-do list in his head. Today Kurapika is so reluctant to stop indulging in his baser instincts that he almost doesn’t make it out the door on time. 

Sex: check. God yes. 

“Touch me. Kiss me. Make me feel so good I can’t stop smiling.” 

“I can handle that!” 

“But can you handle me?” 

Not with that wicked gleam in Kurapika’s eye, Leorio can’t. Kurapika already has him trapped. Trapped, and he loves it. Best to surrender and let himself be forcibly pulled down to the floor before his knees give out of their own volition. “Hmmm… maybe after I wear you down a bit.” 

“I _like_ that answer.” 

As the night grew darker and heavier, he meticulously mapped and memorized every plane and curve of Leorio’s skin with his kisses. The way Leorio worked the tension out of every one of his muscles until Kurapika could barely summon the strength to move, he’s sure Leorio was doing the same thing. 

Sleep: check. Being entangled skin to skin in Leorio’s embrace makes his makeshift mattress and blanket twice as warm and at least ten times more inviting. The morning dawns with unbearable softness, carried on Leorio’s lips and in the brush of his fingertips. It’s so hard to get up and leave. 

“Don’t make me cry, Kurapika. This feels like goodbye.” 

“I’ll be fine, Leorio. I already suffered through a surprise visit without punching anyone, and this time I’m better prepared. You’ve been an invaluable help with my strategy. Teacup, remember? Think how much easier it will be to keep my eyes brown when I’m so relaxed.” He pulls his robes back on, squeezes Leorio tightly in a parting embace, and floats out of the door on a cloud of bliss. 

“Strategy, huh?” Leorio smiles after him, shaking his head. 

Food: check. Downtown in front of the cathedral, Kurapika has just enough time to buy a fresh loaf of bread from a street vendor (thank god flour is cheap and keeps well even in Meteor City) before Nobunaga flags him down. Kurapika rips off a misshapen chunk of bread and tries not to spill any pinwheel fruit jam as he pours out the equivalent of a generous spoonful without the assistance of a spoon. Breakfast is important. He’s going to need all the nen he can get. 

“Would you like some?” Kurapika makes a muffled offering around the jam covered slice between his teeth before trying to put everything away. His hands are quite full: Loaf in the crook of his elbow, jar in one hand, lid in the other. 

“Really? Sure uh. You’re not mad or anything?” 

Kurapika shakes his head as he offloads some bread into Nobunaga’s expectant grasp. Life is too short to die mad about it. He’s forgiven Kuroro, he really has. It’s just that Kuroro still takes first place among Kurapika’s list of punchable faces, right up there above Ging, Pariston, Tonpa and Hisoka. Nobunaga hacks off a slice of bread with his katana, which is really not ideal but still a lot neater than ripping it to pieces with his bare hands. Once Kurapika has had time to tuck away the remainder of the loaf and the jam jar in his satchel, he can converse more politely. Probably nobody cares. We’re all barbarians here. “I did not appreciate the surprise visit, but really I brought it upon myself just by being here. This is a better reception than I was expecting, to be honest. I’m glad to have you as my guide, Nobunaga.” 

*

What a cheerless place. The columns are all covered in cobwebs and there’s no furniture anywhere. Apparently the Ryodan has set up shop in some kind of throne room, with stolen objects randomly piled on the floor (Kurapika isn’t going to ask what they are or where they came from). Kuroro slouches to one side with one leg crossed over the other on the throne because of course he would, the pretentious douchebag. He has Kurapika’s anthology of short stories propped open in his lap, squinting at it in the grey twilight. The other Ryodan members are scattered just as haphazardly as the stolen goods, leaning against columns, sitting cross legged, or in the case of Shalnark, lying on his stomach playing some kind of game on his laptop with Shizuku watching from beside him. Nobody looks up upon Kurapika’s arrival. 

“Hey Boss, we’re back.” 

“So I see. Welcome. Have a seat anywhere you like.” 

“Get a reading lamp,” Kurapika remarks dryly. “You’re going to ruin your eyes.” He’ll stay standing, thank you very much. It’s Kuroro’s own fault if Kurapika gets to be tall enough to look down his nose at him. 

“I appreciate your concern.” Kuroro folds his book shut with one hand and sits up straighter, studying Kurapika’s face. Kurapika stares back at him wordlessly like it’s some kind of standoff, his eyes a stubborn brown. “There was something you wanted to talk to me about, yes?” 

“Yes.” Kurapika takes a deep breath, casting his eyes about the room until he manages to catch everyone’s attention individually. “Kuroro, I forgive you. Feitan, I forgive you. Phinx, Shalnark, Machi, Franklin, I forgive you.” The words are an immediate relief as they leave him, relaxing the defensiveness of his posture. Each name seems to absorb itself into the flicker of his aura, fractionally turning up the pale green intensity of its brightness. “Shizuku- well, I suppose I don’t have much to forgive you for. If Bornoleov and Coltopi were here, the same statement would apply to them.” 

“How nice for you,” scoffs Feitan, who could really care less. Machi doesn’t look like she believes Kurapika, but she doesn’t look like she’s about to attack him either. Phinx, Shalnark and Franklin each give him a small nod of acknowledgement and nothing more, like it’s already well past them. 

“Oh?” Kuroro blinks. “Is that all?” 

Like it didn’t take years of effort to- wait. Kurapika doesn’t need the Ryodan of all people for external validation. He did this for _himself_ , not for them. “That’s the gist of it. The other reason I came here was because I wanted to understand you. All of you. All of _this_.” He makes a sweeping gesture around him in the shape of a mountain of garbage. “Do you remember when I asked you why? Why did you feel justified in wiping out my entire family? Why didn’t you care about their lives? Why didn’t you care about your _own_ life? Why do you find it so easy to end a human life? Last time we met, I wasn’t prepared to listen to the answer. This time I think I can hazard a guess. I suspect it isn’t so much that you don’t see most humans as people, rather that you were taught from a young age that people- that _children_ are readily disposable garbage, only a small number of whom can be made into something valuable. Am I wrong?” 

“You’ve met a fair number of people. Don’t you agree that most of them are trash?” 

“In the mafia? Absolutely. Among children? Absolutely not. And in the middle, the way an innocent child becomes trash is through psychology. Throw a child in the trash and they almost inevitably become trash. Tell a child they’re a red-eyed monster and… you get me. Who gets to decide a person is of value? Who gets to decide a person deserves to be thrown in the trash? Value is highly subjective. I value kindness. You value strength. Someone I consider to be trash could have immesurable value to you or others, and vice versa. I don’t expect to be able to change your mind, but for myself I have decided that I don’t have the right to point the Judgement Chain. Even if someone is a miserable stain on this Earth in my eyes, I never, never think that makes them disposable.” 

“Tell me, Kurapika, do you think I’m trash?” 

“I used to.” 

“And now?” 

“Not anymore.” 

“How remarkable. What made you change your mind?” 

“Pakunoda did. And I confirmed it when you chose not to attack me, Leorio, or any of the children in the library. Do you think of _yourself_ as trash? I was shocked by your willingness to throw yourself away.

“My invitation wasn’t meant as a joke, Kurapika. You wouldn’t have been the first Ryodan member to join us by killing your way into a vacancy. It makes the Spider stronger.”

“Do you mean to tell me that as soon as one of the Ryodan loses a battle and dies, suddenly it makes them worthless and any sense of friendship and camaraderie is gone out the window? That’s _terrible_. What kind of fucked up loyalty is that? You don’t invite yourself into somebody’s circle of friends by taking out the competition.”

“Not at all. We mourn, and then we move on.”

“You say that like it’s _easy_.”

“Why shouldn’t it be? Death is a natural part of life. Those who deny it are merely deluding themselves.”

“That doesn’t mean- no, nevemind. I give up. There are some things about you that I’m content never to understand.”

“What made you decide to care for those children?” 

“Has anyone ever given you- any of you- anything for free that you didn’t have to steal, kill or threaten someone for?” 

Kuroro shrugs. Feitan looks disinterested. Nobunaga spends far too long thinking about it before he finally gives up. “Can’t remember.” 

“Ha! Then that makes me the first. Nobunaga, I’ve made up my mind. I think I will take another crack at the church organ. If neither of you happens to have a copy of the piano score for Pictures at an Exhibition, I can probably print one at the internet café.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A running commentary of things I thought as I wrote this chapter:
> 
> \- You'll pay for this, Captain Planet!
> 
> \- Come back later, Kurapika is out of spoons.
> 
> \- I WOULD LIKE ONE TINY TEACUP TO HIDE IN PLEASE it's been that kind of week. 6 days with no internet connection and a super unhelpful AirBnb host.
> 
> This chapter has been posted with no final readthrough because I am le tired. I might do a few little tweaks and edits later that probably nobody will notice but me.


	11. It Takes A Village

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please let me know if any of the images don't show up. I might be running into some weird copyright issues posting from the UK instead of Canada.
> 
> By the way I added captions to the illustrations in Chapter 9 if anyone is interested.
> 
> This chapter wraps up the story. The next chapter will be MORE illustrations.

Coin wakes up in the dead of the night, shaking and gasping from a scrap of a nightmare that seems so familiar Kurapika can almost see the ghosts and the flames. The eight year old is trying hard not to cry and failing, hot shame mixing with tears. Although Kurapika’s first instinct is to gather him up into his arms, he is neither surprised nor hurt when Coin shrinks away, burying his messy face in his hands. He’s not a baby! He’s tough and strong! Because if he isn’t… he’s useless. All his friends will leave him behind and he will be all alone and starving. Just one more casualty. No one will miss one more mouth to feed. 

Sitting beside him with his arms folded calmly over his knees, Kurapika looks straight ahead into the gloom. “Would you like to know how long it took me before I let myself cry?” He addresses the space between them in a soft, contemplative voice, as if talking to no one but himself. Coin’s entire body jolts upright like he’s been struck by lightning. “Five years. If I waited for it to get any heavier, I wouldn’t be here today.” 

“Boys cry?” 

“Adults cry. Mafia bosses cry. Hunters cry. I have it on good authority that even members of the Ryodan cry.” 

“Really? It didn’t make you feel like a baby?” 

“Maybe a little, but crying doesn’t make you a baby or someone weak. That’s one of the lies society tells you that you don’t have to listen to. It felt… I hate crying. It felt like it went on forever. If felt… a little stupid that I couldn’t stop. But it also felt good, if that makes any sense. It’s a huge relief when you can stop pretending to be okay in front of everyone and just let go. For me, this flood of emotions came as a big rush that suddenly swept away an entire desert of numb emptiness where I thought nothing would ever be able to grow again. It felt warm. Comforting.” He remembers the solid weight of Leorio’s arms around him. 

“Oh.” Coin shifts a little closer until their shoulders and legs are barely touching, trying to draw strength from the points of contact as subtly as possible. He inhales, breathing out a long, shaky sigh. He scrubs at his eyes and wipes a few stray drips away from underneath his chin with his sleeve. His face feels sticky. “Pika?” 

“Hm?” 

“I don’t want to go back to sleep.” 

“I’ll make you some hot tea.” 

***

Children who withdraw into themselves. Children who fight. Children who won’t listen. Children who melt down into a five alarm nuclear temper tantrum when things don’t go their way. Children with hyperfixations on one single toy, one single book, one single comfort. Children who won’t share. Children who are incapable of trust. Children who don’t play well with others, sitting all alone, defensive, terrified by the prospect that someone might cut through the wall of thorns and take notice. Kurapika looks into their eyes and sees himself. 

He is so, so glad he decided to come to Meteor City. Kurapika feels like the missing puzzle piece, the right person in the right place at the right time. If only he could give each and every one of these children the individual attention they so desperately need. Kurapika can’t do this alone. Fortunately, he doesn’t have to. Calling some of his Chimera Ant friends for help was a great idea. 

Beside himself with joy, Colt shows up with every single toy, book, and article of clothing he couldn’t bear to throw away from Kite’s brief second childhood, up to and including their infancy. Bottles? Sippy cups? A stroller? A rocking chair? Surely they’ll come in handy eventually! Some of these kids must have younger siblings, right? God, baby stuff is so bulky. Kurapika has to build another room just to store it all. 

Colt gravitates toward the younger children, leading them out in a group on little expeditions for exercise and fresh air- well, as fresh as air gets in Meteor City. Reina prefers quieter pursuits like reading stories to the children and teaching them how to cook and bake. Brovura gives lessons in self defense and Nen, with Koala (he doesn’t remember his name from his previous human life either) taking over the more advanced lessons with the older kids. He can even teach them how not to get pushed around by the Mafia. The Mafia takes notice. Scared to get on the bad side of the Foxbear, the Chimera Ants and an army of ridiculously strong nen-wielding children, they begin to funnel some of their funds into the operation of the library in a show of goodwill. 

As the older children start to come around more often and become regulars, they start to help take care of the younger children. Kurapika also begins to recognize some of the local adults; in spite of their hazmat suits he can tell them apart by their voices, body shapes and the way they walk. Some of the more charitably minded locals find books or items to donate; others can give lessons on all kinds of life skills from math to financial literacy and bartering, to gardening, to sewing and geography and politics. Still others are more than happy to pick up on Kurapika’s logistical skills, getting a share of the fresh food, clothing and supplies in exchange for their administrative work. 

Suddenly Kurapika has a lot more time on his hands- time to show Leorio he hasn’t been forgotten. Time to work on his next novel. Time to _read_ again, just for fun. Time to teach more Kuruta lessons. The children pick up on it like little sponges, their voices filling the village-shaped void in Kurapika’s heart until it overflows. 

That’s when he knows he’s ready for the organ concert he promised. The entire library is invited, children, Chimera Ants and all. His eyes scan the audience until they lock on to his adversary. Yep, there he is. Kuroro gives him an obnoxious friendly wave. Kurapika indulges in a glare of pure spite before forcing his gaze back onto the sheet music in front of him. Kuroro can’t spoil his mood; that bastard is outnumbered. Look at how many better things Kurapika can do with his time than to sink to the Spider’s level. Things he can be _proud_ of. Thinking about Senritsu and her piano brings a fond smile to Kurapika’s face. He raises his fingers to the keys and lets the music carry him away. 

***

Did a new shipment of books come in? Because Kurapika definitely didn’t order any of _these_. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out who rearranged the display in the library while Kurapika had his back turned- starting with the children’s section. Is nothing sacred? 

[Caption: Illustrated book cover, Be Nice to Spiders by Margaret Bloy Graham. A bespectacled middle aged gentleman who appears to be wearing the green uniform of a train conductor and a black haired child are smiling up at a spider dangling from the top of the page on a silk thread.] 

Kurapika crosses his arms over his chest and scoffs. 

[Caption: Illustrated book cover, The Very Busy Spider by Eric Carle. If you’ve ever heard of The Very Hungry Caterpillar then the art style will be very familiar to you. This cover features a very colorful spider with a red abdomen and a green head, two blue eyes or possibly eye spots, and eight pink legs that look like they could have been drawn in crayon but with very sharp borders. The head and abdomen look like they could have been painted in watercolor with very sharp borders, or possibly cut out from layers of tissue paper.] 

[Caption: Illustrated book cover, Charlotte’s Web by E. B. White, illustrated by Garth Williams. A redheaded girl is holding a piglet in both arms, standing in a wooden pen next to a white goose and a grey sheep. Everyone is staring up at a spider dangling from the title of the book. I forget the names of the characters because it’s been too long since I’ve read the book or seen the movie adaptation. All I remember is that the piglet is named Wilbur and Charlotte is the spider. I’m sure there’s supposed to be a gluttonous rat in there somewhere but he is not featured on the cover.] 

[Caption: Illustrated comic book cover, The Amazing Spider Man – Marvel Comics. Spider Man is leaping out of the page in his classic skin tight red and blue outfit, grabbing onto webs with his left hand. The background is plain yellow with white rays in the shape of a sunburst around our hero, denoting action or movement and drawing our attention to the center of the page.] 

Okay he gets the picture already. 

[Caption: Illustrated book cover, The Spider and the Fly by Tony DiTerlizzi. This book cover is illustrated in black and white, a square shape with a web all around the title in spidery font in the middle. The titular spider is featured in the lower left hand corner of the page. Picture a bald, big-eyed, portly middle aged gentleman with two arms and six legs wearing a waistcoat and a large bowtie. There is a slender lady in a frilly white dress on the lower right hand side of the page whom I can only assume is the fly in question. She has two legs, two wings, and four arms carrying a handbag and holding a delicate parasol made from flower petals over her shoulder. The text at the bottom border of the cover reads “Based on the cautionary tale by Mary Howitt”.] 

Just when Kurapika was going to criticize the lack of creativity in hunting for books with nothing but spiders and webs on the cover-

[Caption: Illustrated book cover, My Eyes Are Big and Red – What Am I? I don’t know who the author is, but it’s part of the Zoo Clues series, wherein we keep dropping more and more obvious hints at preschool aged children until they can guess what animal is featured on the cover. The cover features a photo zoomed in on a very large, very round red eye with a vertical slit for a pupil, over moist green skin. Spoiler alert: it’s a tree frog.] 

Ha. Ha. Not funny. 

[Caption: Illustrated book cover, Red Eyes at Night by Michael Morpurgo. Two pajama clad little girls and a plush dog are hiding under the covers from a pair of red disembodied eyes floating in the darkness.] 

Oh that’s a _low_ blow, Lucifer. But he doesn’t stop there, oh no. Of _course_ it continues into the adult section. 

[Caption: Book cover: Grandmother Spider, A Charlie Moon Mystery, by James D. Doss, author of The Night Visitor. The illustration on the cover features a spider with a red swirl on its teal abdomen over a background of petroglyphs on a brown rock wall.] 

[Caption: Book cover: Anansi Boys by Neil Gaiman. Featuring the white silhouette of a spider in a over an orange background patterned with the silhouettes of bare trees.] 

[Caption: Book cover: Along Came a Spider by James Patterson. Introducing Detective Alex Cross. The background of the color is a photo of some spooky woods in autumn with bare branches.] 

[Caption: Comic book cover: The Incredible Hulk. Just underneath the title the subtitle reads THE STRANGEST MAN OF ALL TIME in allcaps. Shows a scientist in a white lab coat, blue necktie, round glasses and hot pink trousers screaming in the front with the Hulk’s big, black and white angry shirtless self standing behind him. Isn’t it funny how The Hulk’s shirt gets torn to ribbons when he transforms but his trousers remain largely intact even though his shoes are totally gone and his thighs are about four times the diameter in Hulk form compared to the scientist’s skinny stick legs? We have to keep it PG rated after all. Physics doesn’t work like that, but I digress. Text around the Hulk reads "Fantasy as you like it" and “Is he man or monster? Or... Is he both?"] 

Now hold on a second. 

[Caption: old school black and white illustrated book cover: The Strange Case of Doctor Jekyll and Mr. Hyde by Robert Lewis Stevenson. Features a distinguished looking gentleman in a knee length buttoned coat looking up at the ceiling as his flask of dubious science liquid slips from his grasp. Superimposed over his form is a white haired, hunched over figure with a horrified expression on his face.] 

Is he _implying_ something? 

[Caption: Book cover: An Eye for an Eye by William Ian Miller. Author of Faking It and the Anatomy of Disgust. The illustration on the cover features two one eyed-men staring each other down, each holding the eye that’s missing from the other’s face in their hands. Check out this synopsis from Amazon because Kuroro couldn’t have picked a book that’s better suited to pushing all of Kurapika’s highly specific buttons in particular. 

Begin quote: 

“This book is a historical and philosophical meditation on paying back and buying back, that is, it is about retaliation and redemption. It takes the law of the talion - eye for an eye, tooth for a tooth - seriously. In its biblical formulation that law states the value of my eye in terms of your eye, the value of your teeth in terms of my teeth. Eyes and teeth become units of valuation. But the talion doesn't stop there. It seems to demand that eyes, teeth, and lives are also to provide the means of payment. Bodies and body parts, it seems, have a just claim to being not just money, but the first and precisest of money substances. In its highly original way, the book offers a theory of justice, not an airy theory though. It is about getting even in a toughminded, unsentimental, but respectful way. And finds that much of what we take to be justice, honor, and respect for persons requires, at its core, measuring and measuring up.” 

End quote.] 

Calm down, it’s just paper and ink; don’t give him the satisfaction. The books are innocent. The authors are innocent. The illustrators and cover designers are innocent. It’s not their fault. If Kurapika doesn’t keep repeating this to himself, that poor adorable tree frog is going to end up in flames on somebody’s trash heap. Count them: he fucking knew it. Thirteen books exactly. 

He finds Kuroro at the end of the trail, sprawled out in a bean bag chair with his long legs creating a tripping hazard in front of him. The head of the Ryodan appears to be engrossed in a murder mystery, not even glancing up as Kurapika approaches. Kuroro is very good at feigning innocence, his expression schooled into a careful blank. Oh but Kurapika knows he’s being watched out of Kuroro’s peripheral vision. He can feel the air of smug punchability rolling off this man in waves. Also Kuroro hasn’t turned a page in the last five minutes. 

Kurapika yanks the book down out of Kuroro’s field of vision so he can glare at him properly. 

“Good afternoon. I thought you might appreciate a few new titles in your collection.” 

“Are you this obnoxious to everyone or do you just like my eyes that much?” 

“I must admit it’s closer to the latter.” 

“Closer?” Kurapika asks before he can think better of it, regretting the question the instant it leaves his vocal chords. 

“That, and I think you’re funny when you’re mad.” 

Well at least he’s being honest. “If I show you my scarlet eyes, will you go away?” 

“For now. I do still enjoy perusing the bookshelves.” 

“Fine.” One blink is all it takes for a veil of crimson to flood into his vision. Kurapika levels Kuroro with a flat, unimpressed glare. “Happy now?” 

“You’ve learned how to change your eye color at will? How fascinating. All along I thought it was tied to your emotional state.” 

“It’s like breathing.” Kurapika leaves it at that, not even sure why he offered an explanation at all. Sometimes it’s easier to control; sometimes it’s harder, depending on his heart rate and how he’s feeling. It can be as stark as the difference between hyperventilating and holding his breath. 

“Have you ever tried to change just one?” 

“Just one?” Why would he want to- but _can_ he? Now he has to try for the heck of it, just to find out. He blinks, and both eyes are brown. “Hold on.” He blinks, and both eyes are scarlet again. This is _hard_. “Maybe if I-” Kurapika covers his right eye with his palm, letting it to adjust to the darkness before he gives it one more try. Several seconds of concentration later, the tip of his tongue sticking out of the corner of his mouth, he finally manages to allow the heat and pressure to flood into only his _left_ eye. Kurapika slowly lowers his hand from his right eye. “Whoa.” He reels backward slightly, disoriented between two conflicting versions of color trying to flicker into a single image in his brain. “I feel like I should be watching a 3D movie.” 

Kuroro actually looks like he’s trying not to laugh, his eyes crinkled at the corners and his fingertips hovering just over his lips. 

“That’s enough.” Squeezing both eyes shut, Kurapika shakes his head vigorously to clear it. When he opens them again, both are back to brown and visibly relieved. “It was _definitely_ going to give me a headache if I kept that up for too long.” 

“Thank you for your time.” Kuroro gives a single wave goodbye on his way out the door, carrying a small smile on his face and a stack of freshly checked out novels cradled in the crook of his left elbow. 

He’s gone. Thank fuck. Time to clean up this place. The very first offending book Kurapika picks up off the display is An Eye for An Eye. Out of a force of habit, he cracks open the cover and glances at the blurb. That _asshole_. How did he manage to find a book with a synopsis that reads like a personal attack? And yet… and yet… Against his better judgement, Kurapika turns to the first page and begins to read. Hours later when he’s blinking up dazedly from the very last page, wondering where the last few hours went, he finds himself plopped down in the exact same bean bag chair Kuroro had just vacated. Damn it. He’ll be kicking himself for the rest of the evening and speaking of this to no one. 

***

From then on Kuroro never fails to visit the library whenever he is in town; Kurapika can always tell immediately by the latest crop of passive-aggressive book recommendations. Some of them area actually good, damn him. Kuroro got him hooked on Neil Gaiman and now he can’t stop reading about corrupted gods and modern fairytales. Then before he knows it Kurapika somehow gets roped into playing cards with Shizuku, Coltopi, and Shalnark. It was the reverse psychology that got him. “I bet you couldn’t pull off a poker face if your life depended on it.” 

One game leads to another. Shalnark (horseback rider) plays a _vicious_ game of Monopoly; he’s in it to win even against his Boss (top hat). Their third player is Machi (thimble). Kurapika (car) is the bank. It’s only paper money but you can be sure he’s making them pay. He cackles with wicked glee every time someone draws a jail card. _Especially_ -

“Haha, eat shit Lucifer. Do not pass go, do not collect two hundred Jenny.” 

By the time Kurapika and Kuroro are the last two nations left waging a protracted war against each other in a days long game of Risk, after steadily wiping all the other Spiders off the map, Shalnark is running a betting pool with an astronomical sum of actual money riding on the outcome. Both parties are too focused on the gameplay to take notice. Leorio walks into the room, does a full body double take at the sight of at all of the Ryodan members huddled around the table, and walks right back out again. What- How? Should he be extremely concerned right now? Never in a thousand years… The _real_ long shot in this bet is the way Kurapika is sitting so quietly in the middle of them all, his eyes a cool, calculating brown. 

Until he wins. 

Kurapika leaps up from his seat, pumping his fist in the air. Blazing irises; smug, ear splitting grin with an edge of sharp teeth. Now _there’s_ a look Kuroro hasn’t seen on him before. How startling. How incandescent. How fleeting and rare, a sight that can neither be stolen, killed for, nor purchased with money. He’s more than pleased with his consolation prize. 

***

Now that their more basic needs are covered, these kids could use a real playground, one that won’t slice them open on an abandoned piece of machinery and give them tetanus. Kurapika has never had a reason to think about playgrounds until now; after a childhood spent playing in the woods, his first glimpse of painted metal bars and colorful plastic slides seemed alien and out of place between the imposing glass skyscrapers of York Shin City. They were just _there_ , and always teeming with children at play. What makes a good playground? Not a sad pair of swings and a basketball court in an abandoned parking lot. _Definitely_ not a dilapidated amusement park where one goes after dark to make underhanded deals with Hisoka. Kurapika gives himself a mental shake to dislodge the memory. Thinking back to his own childhood and his observation of how the Meteor City children play, Kurapika begins to put together a list. 

These kids need: 

1\. Something to climb on. A hill, a tree, a _small_ cliff, maybe a tower where they can pretend to be kings and pirates. 

2\. Something to balance on. Kurapika keeps noticing the children walking along I-beams, placing one foot carefully in front of the other, or hopping from one cinder block to another in a row. 

3\. Something soft to land on. _One_ child with broken legs was enough guilt, thank you very much. There are plenty of old tires he could shred up to create a gravelly sort of surface. 

4\. Free space to run. 

5\. A cave to hide in. Kurapika remembers a book and a dictionary and blanket and candles burned down into stumps. He remembers hushed whispers and a sense of conspiracy, and the glow of Pairo’s smile. 

6\. Child-sized houses and furniture. 

7\. ~~A baby.~~

Wait a minute. 

Kurapika blinks, but the vision has not gone away. That isn’t just a ragged old doll somebody dumped in one of the garbage heaps, is it? With a growing sense of trepidation, he steps closer. No, it’s definitely a real baby, somewhere around a year old if Kurapika had to hazard a guess, although he’s nowhere near good enough with babies to nail down the exact month. The baby is fast asleep, strapped into a filthy, faded, brittle plastic car seat that looks too small and is probably no longer safe. (He?) has olive skin, rosy cheeks, short brown curls, and a line of drool merging into a single sticky stream with the snot from (his?) runny nose. The baby is swaddled in some kind of furry brown animal hide that doesn’t look familiar enough for Kurapika to identify.

Surely an infant this young must have parents? Climbing to the top of the garbage heap for a better vantage point, Kurapika scouts around in all directions looking for anyone who looks like they might be desperately searching for a lost infant. Soon he comes to the frightening conclusion that the only adult in the vicinity is himself- Leorio is at the clinic as usual; Colt and Reina are off on an excursion with most of the other young children, and the masked Meteor City locals who usually frequent the library are off picking up a shipment. 

“Daisuke, Kaska, do you know this baby? Do you have any brothers or sisters?” 

A shrug. A shake of the head. Their game of ‘the floor is lava’ resumes without further comment, as if this sort of thing happens all the time. 

This is Meteor City, where you can discard anything, or _anyone_ with no questions asked. 

A baby. 

Unwanted. 

Abandoned. 

In the _garbage_.

_This sort of thing happens all the time._

Kurapika can’t stop the rage that bubbles up from his chest into his throat until the wave of crimson sweeps across his entire field of vision. Who in the _seven shades of hell_ would throw out a _baby_ and leave them to die? Not Kurapika. He may not know the first thing about babies, but he would never forgive himself if he just walked away and let this slide. 

As the baby squirms and fusses into wakefulness, Kurapika’s fury rapidly melts away in favor of more pressing concerns. His startled scarlet eyes look down and meet a pouting green-eyed gaze. The baby takes one look at him and emits an ear-splitting wail. Did Kurapika scare him? It isn’t easy to school the caramel color back into his irises while this infant is threatening to pierce his eardrums, but for this baby’s sake Kurapika gives it his all. It doesn’t stop the screaming, but the volume does seem to lessen. 

Kurapika crouches down to just above the baby’s eye level. God he’s loud. He wonders if there’s any hope that this child might have enough of a basic grasp of language to listen to reason. “Yes, I know, I may not be the person you expected, but right now I’m the only one you’ve got. Can you tell me what’s wrong? Do you want me to pick you up?” 

As Kurapika tentatively reaches out, the baby is having none of it. Wriggling halfway out of his blanket, he grabs hold of Kurapika’s right hand in two chubby fists and _chomps_ down on Kurapika’s fingers with the full force of something more than just eight front baby teeth. Kurapika’s battle instincts kick in, applying a protective barrier of Ten long before his brain catches up to the fact that the baby is glowing white. Why can’t he shake the feeling that he had it coming? Of fucking _course_ a Meteor City baby would come equipped with Enhancer nen. The flimsy car seat won’t hold this kid for a minute longer; the aged plastic disintegrates into a thousand pieces. 

Maybe that’s why he was abandoned here. Maybe his nen- which can’t possibly be his fault at such a young age- was making him too difficult to handle. Maybe everyone around him thinks he’s a monster. Maybe his own _mother_ is scared of him. Is this what it would be like to have a biological child of his own, a tiny shrieking scarlet-eyed bundle who doesn’t know their own strength? Kurapika finds his heart melting with sympathy even as the baby tries to gnaw his fingers off, drooling all the way to Kurapika’s sleeve. Well at least now he’s quiet. He allows himself to be scooped up and carried inside, delicately cradled in one arm. Kurapika turns his eyes heavenward and heaves a heavy sigh. “God grant me patience, though I stand last in line.” 

*

All it takes is one second of distraction and the baby is toddling off into the unknown at full steam. Kurapika chases after him, pulling anything and everything out of his mouth while babbling away at the baby half in Kuruta and half in Hunter Language, hoping at least some of the words will eventually stick somehow. 

“No don’t eat that, that’s garbage.” 

“Yuck, that’s dirty.” 

“Oh for goodness sake, just because you’re not tall enough to reach the doorknob doesn’t mean it’s a good idea to smash your way through the door headfirst…”

This baby is nearly unstoppable. Kurapika has to resort to his nen just to keep him from breaking everything. 

“Please stop chewing on the Romance section. You’re not old enough to understand.” 

“…You’re hungry, aren’t you?” 

*

“Leorio. _Help me._ ”

“Rough day?” 

Disheveled doesn’t describe half of how Kurapika looks right now. There’s food spattered everywhere with no hope of washing it off; this baby fights the merest suggestion of running water like the Wicked Witch of the West. In fact he wails and squirms and fights back every time Kurapika tries to pick him up or even gets close enough to do so- unless of course the baby is biting him, or pulling Kurapika’s hair, or yanking on his shiny dangling earring. And he’s been keeping his Ten up and blocking brute force attacks on all the walls and doors and bookshelves all day. 

“Somebody threw this _baby_ in the _garbage_. I couldn’t just _leave_ him there. I can’t get him to stop crying and he’s always running away from me. What am I doing _wrong_ , Leorio? I never learned how to change a diaper and I don’t even know _where_ to get another diaper in Meteor City. He has a few teeth; that means he’s allowed to eat solid food, right? How worried should I be about choking hazards? How old even is he? Why does he have a mild fever? Is he sick? And if that wasn’t enough, he’s outrageously strong for a baby and he’s an Enhancer. This is it. I’m done for. I’m finally in too deep.” 

“Hey, at least you’re more qualified than Ging!” 

“That’s a really low bar.” 

“You’re doing fine, Kurapika. He’s teething by the way, the fever is totally normal.” 

All Leorio has to do is take him off Kurapika’s hands and smile and the baby instantly morphs into a cooing, babbling little angel. “He likes _you._ ” Kurapika has never felt more jealous in his whole life. 

“Give him time,” Leorio suggest sagely. 

“I know.” Kurapika collapses dramatically into the nearest beanbag chair, draping an arm across his eyes. “I’m just tired from the unexpected nen workout.” 

“Want me to give him a bath?” 

“I’ve heard you’re capable of working miracles, Doctor Paladiknight.” 

“I’ll take that as a yes.” A meaningful pause. “Want me to give _you_ a bath?” 

“Maybe later.” 

“Hey there bear cub, do you have a name?” 

Yeah, he does kind of look like one with that brown furry pelt currently serving as the outer garment for his diaper. Here Kurapika has been struggling with what to call him other than The Baby all day, and he’s been too scatterbrained to actually ask. Assuming the baby understands-

“U-BO!” 

Kurapika sits bolt upright, wide-eyed with shock. He thought he was over the dense lump of guilt in the pit of his stomach; he thought it was long buried the night he returned to the cliffs with Nobunaga; he was wrong. Memories of his twelve year old brokenness resonate in all of the echoes. Rejection, loneliness, isolation- The glimpse of crimson sets Ubogin off again, howling his displeasure no matter how Leorio tries to bounce him up and down in his arms. Both the baby and the blond have burst into tears. 

“Ubogin has every right to _hate_ me Leorio; I _killed_ him. This didn’t happen by accident. I was _meant_ to find him, I just know it. I deserve this. This is my divine punishment. I’ll bet he remembers _everything_.”

“Kurapika. _Kurapika,_ slow down. He’s a _baby_. Don’t you understand the gift you’ve been given? You get to start over from the beginning. How many people can honestly say they’ve had the same opportunity?” 

“I… I…” Words fail him, and Kurapika lapses into stunned silence for a long time. 

“Did you know that babies are surprisingly perceptive?” Shifting his hold on Ubogin to one arm, Leorio reaches out with his free arm to pet the hair at the top of Kurapika’s head. “He’s picking up on your anxiety. Take as many deep breaths as you need.” He isn’t alone anymore; he clearly needed the reminder. As Kurapika leans into Leorio’s warmth, filing the hurt back into the past where it belongs, Ubogin gradually goes still, yawning and blinking drowsily. “There, you see?” 

“I hate how easy you made that look,” Kurapika sniffs irritably. 

Leorio can’t help feeling a little bit smug, grinning back at him. It isn’t often he gets to see his intimidating, ambitious, fiercely independent know-it-all of a husband at a total loss. “You were an only child, weren’t you?” 

He can’t even flip him off right now- not while the reminder of his Chain Jail feels this fresh and raw. Kurapika blinks away his tears, wipes his face on the sleeve of his already hopelessly messy shirt, and sticks his tongue out like a petulant child. _Oh._ Leorio has such an attractive laugh. It still gives him butterflies. 

Ubogin is watching him with rapt attention, his head tucked protectively into the crook of Leorio’s neck. Kurapika can see the resemblance now, the thick, fuzzy eyebrows, the upturned beginnings of a strong nose. He climbs slowly back to his feet, too wary of shattering this fragile peace to step any closer. 

“Ubogin?” 

“U-bo,” he repeats softly. 

“Ubo. I know this won’t be easy, but I will never give up on you. This time around, I owe you a better life. Will you grant me the honor of a second chance?” 

“Pi-ka,” says Ubogin, his brows furrowed with concentration. 

Any plans Kurapika may have scheduled for the rest of his evening have now been replaced by emotional blubbering. This must be what it feels like to be staked by his own Judgement Chain, because Kurapika is pretty sure his heart just exploded. 

***

Kurapika has no idea what he’s doing. And when Kurapika has no idea what he’s doing, he tries to solve it with books. Perhaps this was not the wisest choice…

Things you can learn from a pile of books about parenting: 

1\. Frequently asked questions. 

2\. Developmental milestones and what to expect around them. 

3\. Children do best with structure and routine. 

4\. There are as many different opinions about parenting as there are parents. 

5\. There are some truly preachy, judgemental authors out there. Kurapika endeavours never to become one of them. 

Things you can’t learn from a pile of books about parenting: 

1\. How to make time to actually read a pile of books about parenting

2\. How to parent. (Nice try. Finding a parenting style that works is as unique and requires as much trial and error as developing a nen skill and applying it to different opponents) 

3\. See also: How every child is different

4\. See also: How to teach a superpowered child to recognize and control their strength before they have even developed sufficient language skills to do so. (The fact that Kurapika is probably better equipped to handle this than millions of other parents is only mildly reassuring) 

5\. How not to succumb to the siren song of overprotectiveness after a childhood where everyone he loved was ripped away from him. (If he isn’t careful, Kurapika can see himself becoming his own strict father. It’s so much easier to stop navigating from a knee-jerk seat of fear with the older children who have already learned to be largely independent, especially since he has so much help lately) 

6\. Where to hunt down the person who left Ubogin in the garbage so he can punch them in the face. (Relax, Kurapika. That isn’t going to be helpful to anyone.) 

7\. What reincarnation feels like and how much a child will actually remember from their past life. (Thank you, Colt) 

8\. The most up to date recommended vaccination regime and how to access it in a city that doesn’t legally exist and is also made of garbage. (Thank you, Leorio) 

9\. What to do when your kid. Won’t. Fall. Asleep. 

There are a few things Kurapika discovers very quickly. Forget baby gates, for one. Colt didn’t bring him any and Kurapika isn’t even going to try to go looking for them: Ubogin can tear through walls. If Kurapika really needs him to stay put for a moment, the best means to do so is with a sufficiently engrossing toy. Secondly, cribs are a lost cause. When Kurapika tries to put Ubo down for a nap, he treats the bed like a prison to escape from, and he refuses to calm down from his howling, destructive rampage until Kurapika puts him down on the mattress in the quiet of his apartment and pretends not to be looking. He actively has to step out of the bedroom, keeping an eye on the baby with his En instead of his eyes. Even then it takes over an hour for Ubo to cry himself to sleep. Third- and he probably should have guessed the pattern by now- Ubogin will _not_ , sit in a high chair. Is it claustrophobia, or is Ubogin reacting to Kurapika specifically? Whatever it is, Kurapika feels horribly at fault. Note to self: never trap him in the Teacup. 

Mealtimes are the easiest- a sort of unofficial truce. In exchange for avoiding the high chair, Ubogin will tolerate being picked up, sitting at the table in Kurapika’s lap. This is a big win. Kurapika will put up with the big mess, the refusal to wear a bib, and Ubo’s insistence that he inexpertly wield the spoon himself if it means they can mutually let their guard down for a few blessed minutes. Well, learning fine motor skills has to start somewhere, even if that somewhere is food all over Ubogin, Kurapika, and the floor. Ubogin will eat anything and everything with great enthusiasm and in mind-boggling quantities, even his vegetables. He seems to grow bigger in the span of a blink. How long will it be before this child is a head and shoulders taller than Leorio and built like a fortress? 

Kurapika sets out on the long, slow process of building trust. Gradually the moments of frustration are balanced out by moments of great happiness, with long stretches of mundane drudgery in between. There are games of tag and peek-a-boo and hide and seek and towers of building blocks that Ubogin loves to knock down. There are baths made less painful with the addition of bubbles and toys that float, because Colt is a genius and a godsend. There is so much _cleaning_ , it’s unbelievable. Was Kurapika this messy as a young child? Yes, now that he thinks about it he can remember being scolded for coming back from his adventures with Pairo covered in mud on several occasions. 

Eventually, there are hugs. Ubogin is egregious and generous with his affection, offering hugs to all of the other children, the masked adults, and Leorio, Colt, Reina, Koala and Brovura alike. When he begins to lift his arms in Kurapika’s general direction, asking to be picked up, or his small arms suddenly encircle one pant leg, or he climbs up into Kurapika’s lap, the accompanying rush of emotion never fails to knock Kurapika flat. He _earned_ this. He earned this and it was _hard_.

Kurapika frequently fires up video calls with Senritsu, who absolutely adores babies. She is well prepared with earplugs to protect her sensitive ears as Ubogin bangs his way through a concert on a row of upturned pots and pans. Senritsu plays classical music over the connection, entrancing both members of her audience regardless of whether she is putting nen in it or not. She knits Ubogin the most adorable little hat with bear cub ears. Her sweet personality belies her cunning and her former Mafia connections; how else could she have not only managed to mail something to Meteor City but to surprise Kurapika with it? 

***

Leorio’s birthday unfortunately coincides with the start of flash flood season. In March Meteor City becomes noticeably emptier; everyone with the means chooses to be elsewhere, the Ryodan included. Others are swept away or poisoned by the contaminated flood waters- truly an unpleasant time to be in this stinking trash heap. 

Both of them are so preoccupied with sandbags and trenches and repairs and rescues – Kurapika at the library and Leorio at the clinic – that they barely have time to breathe, let alone celebrate until April rolls around. The flood waters recede, leaving behind soaked soil and mud. Within hours, the entire desert erupts in a carpet of blooming wildflowers, leaching the acid and toxins out of the soil. The children who aren’t already helping Kurapika plant fresh vegetables in the garden enthusiastically set about making daisy chains and flower crowns. All around Kurapika, hazmat suits are festooned with garlands in riotous colors. At night, someone hacks together a fireworks display that’s probably as dangerous as it is beautiful. Even the air smells fresher. There is life and warmth and hope. Kurapika couldn’t have asked for a better birthday present. Except for one thing- Colt takes Ubo off Kurapika’s hands for one day and shoos him out the door. Kurapika loops a flower garland over Leorio’s head and kidnaps him from the clinic. 

“ _You_ have been working too hard.” 

“Said the pot to the kettle.” 

“Shut up and take a vacation with me,” Kurapika purrs seductively into his husband’s ear. And that’s an order. 

Leorio doesn’t need to be told twice. 

***

He has to tell Nobunaga. He doesn’t _want_ to tell the rest of the Ryodan, but there’s no way to hide the truth and Kurapika would much rather reveal it on his own terms, with wary eyes wide open and as much mental preparation as he’s ever likely to get. Worst case- Kurapika’s mind always jumps to the morbid, but this time logic overrules it instantly. No, the Ryodan has no interest in senselessly killing children, particularly those from Meteor City- if they did they could have easily done so several times already- particularly one of their own whose loss they dearly mourned. Worst case, they’ll take Ubogin away and claim him for their own, ripping another part of Kurapika’s heart away with him. It took a stupidly short time to become hopelessly attached to this child. Sure he’ll still have Leorio and he’ll still have the other Meteor City children at the library, but it’s going to _hurt_ like hell. Will Kurapika survive another permanent scar? 

Is that really the worst case, though? As much as Kurapika would hate to see Ubogin grow up into a killer all over again, at least the child would be happy and loved, with people who feel like home. But there’s a very obvious puzzle piece that just won’t fit into this picture. No matter how he tries, Kurapika just can’t wrap his head around the idea of the Ryodan taking in a baby and trying to raise him, even if he _was_ a full-fledged Ryodan member in his past life. Maybe it would change them. Maybe if they knew how much work went into it, then they would finally appreciate the value of a life. It’s not like Kurapika would never see Ubo and his little bear ears hat again; undoubtedly the Ryodan would still come to bother him at the library for some inexplicable reason. Since when has Kurapika gotten used to their unexpected visits? Unbelievable. 

Kurapika takes a deep breath. Might as well get this over with. 

_Kurapika: I have a very important question for you._

_Kurapika: When is Ubogin’s birthday?_

_Nobunaga: November 11th_

Then, counting backwards, that means if he was reborn on the same day, he’s getting close to eighteen months now. 

_Nobunaga: where the hell did that question come from?_

_Kurapika: Can you come to the library?_

_Kurapika: Alone?_

Just because he owes the rest of the Troupe some news doesn’t mean he’s ready to break it to them all at once. 

_Kurapika: It’s better if I show you._

_Kurapika: Otherwise you may not believe me._

*

“No-BU!” Shouts a small voice with healthy lungs, bursting at the seams with joy. Ubogin toddle-runs into an enthusiastic crash-landing with Nobunaga’s legs, reaching up both arms and jumping up and down. 

Nobunaga gathers him up and lets himself be crushed into a hug. “Ubo! What took you so long? You’re late! I can’t believe you’re so tiny. You runt. You pint sized giant. You can’t even _drink_ a pint. Ha! I’m gonna watch your back, don’t worry.” His voice cracks. “God, I missed you. I missed you so much.” 

Kurapika feels like an intruder watching the full spectrum of emotions playing out across Nobunaga’s features. Shock – pain – grief – joy – love – awe. There’s that guilt again. There’s that awkward feeling like he doesn’t belong here, that question of whether he has been doing the right thing. There’s that gut-wrenching fear he could lose everything he’s worked so hard for all over again. Should he have told Nobunaga sooner? Is it wrong to keep Ubogin as his own child? What is he supposed to do now? Nobunaga transfixes him with a sharp look- a tear-streaked search for answers, and Kurapika feels the heat of righteous anger welling up in his chest. He is doing his _best_ , damn it. Nobunaga has no room to judge. It’s not like God saw fit to place a baby Pairo in his hands! Yet. _Wow_. What if- That would be- Kurapika never even considered that idea within the realm of possibility before. The anger mixes with a flood of boundless hope. Kurapika stares back at Nobunaga, his eyes stubborn and crimson and honest. He has nothing to hide. 

“How long have you known?” 

“About four months.” 

“Why didn’t you tell me?” 

“I wasn’t ready. I’m _still_ not ready to tell the others, although I suppose they’re going to find out regardless now that I’ve already told you. I didn’t know how you- any of you- would react to such a small child. And- call it selfish if you will- I needed more time to make amends. I needed time to gain his trust. I was desperate for him to _like_ me. But most of all, I _never_ want Ubogin to grow up thinking human life is worthless, theft is necessary for survival, and _murder_ is _fun_. If you don’t agree, you can put him down and _get out_. You’ve had your life with him, now it’s _my_ turn.” 

“Okay holy shit, slow down. I never even thought about kids before. You want to keep him?” 

“Absolutely. I can’t afford to mess up my second chance. I want to give him a life of comfort and security, surrounded by people he can trust. Surely you wouldn’t leave him there if you were the one to find Ubogin in the garbage?” 

“There’s no way in hell I’d leave Ubo in the trash! He’s _alive_! I have to be part of his life somehow. You know that. Ubo knows that.” 

“Would you want to keep him then?” 

“I don’t know. It’s- what would I even do? Strap him to my back so I can keep both hands free for my katana? What if he doesn’t know enough Ten to defend himself yet? What if he gets in the way all the time?” Then there are all the questions Nobunaga doesn’t dare to voice aloud. What if he has to choose between Ubogin and the Ryodan? What if he dies before he has a chance to see Ubo grow up? That’s… never been a worry before. He always thought he would go down in a blaze of glory, like Ubo did; that the moment he squared off against a stronger opponent would be a happy one. Or- here’s another thought, one Nobunaga has been avoiding for a long time- what if he never meets a stronger opponent? What if the fight gets boring? What if none of the things he steals has any meaning anymore? What if they never did? 

“Would you teach him love, and loyalty, and strength?” 

“Stupid question. Of course I would!” 

“Would you teach him kindness?” 

Well duh, isn’t that already implied in love and loyalty? But it wouldn’t be such a pointed question if he didn’t know exactly what Kurapika was talking about. Kindness to _whom_ , exactly? Did sparing Gon and Killua instead of killing them count as kindness? How about allowing the hostage exchange to proceed to get back the Boss? Was it kind of Paku to sacrifice her own life for the good of the Spider as a whole? Does his obligation to kindness end when the recipients are no longer people he personally cares about? Not according to Kurapika, and the family he lost. Those Scarlet Eyes. He has forgiven, but he will never forget. Now that Kurapika has come to consider Ubogin as part of his family, the weight of his gaze is relentless, trying to judge where Nobunaga fits. “…Stop looking at me like that.” 

“Let me make this abundantly clear, Nobunaga. Just because my methods have changed doesn’t mean my goals are any different. Ten or twenty years from now, I don’t want _any_ of the children in this library to become Spiders. I don’t want the Ryodan to exist.” 

If that doesn’t scare Nobu off, nothing will. 

“Can’t I just visit him while I figure shit out?” 

“Yes. Anytime.” Kurapika finally relaxes, leaving Nobunaga feeling like he just passed some kind of test. 

“Would you even _let_ me keep him, if that was what I decided?” 

“Reluctantly, and only part of the time. Ultimately I want what’s best for him, and keeping him away from his past life entirely doesn’t seem fair.” 

“So if you found Paku…”

“Then Ubo would have a sister.” 

“Holy shit, you’re _serious_.”

“Shit!” Says Ubo. Kurapika’s resulting scowl makes Nobunaga whoop with laughter. 

The next few hours pass pleasantly. Nobunaga is more than happy to keep Ubo entertained while Kurapika pops in and out overseeing everything in the library. Occasionally he comes back with tea and Kuruta style snacks. (Ubo and his voracious appetite are reluctant to share. Kurapika has to go back and get more.) Later, when he walks back into the room to include Ubo in a story he is reading to the other children, he happens upon the sight of Nobunaga playing horsie with Ubo clinging to his back and giggling, and Kurapika can’t keep a straight face. Eventually Kurapika sits down beside Nobunaga, idly joining in the game of rolling an oversized inflated ball back and forth to Ubo on the floor. 

“Nobu, you’ve known Ubogin for a long time. Is it strange for him to have curly hair? Is that just a quirk of reincarnation, where sometimes the same soul will land in a completely different body? Granted, I was skeptical about the entire concept of reincarnation until I witnessed it with my own eyes. Everything I know about it is from what my Chimera Ant friends have told me.” 

“Nah, get this. He used to have a fro out to here.” 

“You’re _kidding_.”

“Nope.” 

“I can’t picture it. How on earth was his hair so straight and spiky by the time I met him?” 

“Oh that was from Big Bang Impact. He just shrugged it off and rolled with it.” 

“I have to admit I didn’t recognize him right away. The Enhancer nen and the way the first thing he did was bite me should have been a clue.” 

“Hahaha he _bit_ you and you decided to keep him anyway?” 

“He also pulled my hair, and my earring, and he kept running away and trying to smash through all of my doors.” 

“So in other words, you’re a stubborn son of a bitch.” 

“I was going to say that I enjoy a challenge, but yes. I get that a lot.” 

***

_Kurapika: Can I ask you for a favor?_

_Kurapika: Can you take me to the Ryodan hideout again?_

_Nobunaga: sure_

_Nobunaga: I’m always up for hanging out with the little guy_

_Nobunaga: tell Ubo I’m coming, yeah?_

Oh, Kurapika could easily find the way himself if he wanted to. The thing is, the Ryodan hideout and all of the people he expects to find there still set his teeth on edge. It feels stupid asking for moral support, especially from one of their active members, but here we are. Nobunaga _understands_ better than anyone. (Yeah, yeah, he can hear Doctor Barbadens’ voice in his head- asking for help does _not_ make him weak. Repeat that line ten times a day for as long as necessary.)

“Hey.” 

Ubogin greets Nobunaga’s arrival with a big smile that lights up his whole face. Already feeling a little more reassured, Kurapika gives Ubo a tight hug before letting Nobunaga take him off his hands. Kurapika prefers to have his hands free. Even though he isn’t planning on grabbing the swords off his back or conjuring up his nen, it still gives him a little more comfort that he can act that much more quickly should the need arise. 

He steels himself as they climb up the stone steps together. Kurapika can feel the Ryodan’s presence and he knows he is being watched. The polite, awkward cough to announce his presence is merely a formality. “Spider Clan? There’s someone here who would very much like to meet you.” While menacing figures appear from the shadows, Ubogin bounces in Nobunaga’s arms like he’s on his very first piko ride. 

Ubogin makes the rounds greeting everyone, very much enjoying all the attention. Some of the Ryodan members are clearly more at ease around him than others. Shizuku doesn’t seem to recognize Ubo, but she’ll take the others’ word for it. Coltopi holds him gently, letting him peek behind the curtain of hair. Phinx gives him a bear hug and tosses him in the air a few times. Feitan very briefly tolerates Ubogin’s chubby fist making a grab for him before retreating to the back corner. Machi allows one single hug; Kurapika can tell she’s only pretending to look annoyed about it. 

“Ba!” The child clearly has his eyes set on Kuroro next, half dangling out of Machi’s arms as he squirms in the Boss’s general direction. She is ready to fob him off on Kuroro whether he likes it or not. 

Now _this_ was worth coming here to watch. The troupe leader has absolutely no idea what to do with a baby. Kuroro holds Ubogin stiffly with an expression of utter bewilderment overwriting his default devil-may-care attitude. Ubo messes up Kuroro’s gelled hair and tugs on his shiny earrings. At last, Kurapika has found his one weakness. 

“I don’t know _what_ he sees in you,” Kurapika gloats. 

Kuroro clears his throat and says nothing. He is quick to hand off Ubo to Shalnark, the traitor who isn’t trying very hard not to laugh. Shalnark makes a big show of making a face and wiping Ubo’s baby kiss off his cheek. Underneath the façade, he is reluctant to let Ubogin go. A shadow of sadness briefly passes across his face as he remembers just what happened the last time. 

When Kurapika is ready to leave, Nobunaga, Shalnark and Franklin come with him back to the library. They spend the rest of the afternoon fussing over the youngest Spider, breathing new life into all of his toys. 

Shalnark elbows Kurapika in the ribs. “Just get a spider tattoo already.” 

“No.” 

***

Sleep is the worst. Maybe it’s the growing teeth irritating Ubo’s gums. Maybe Kurapika just doesn’t have this whole routine perfected yet (maybe it will never be perfect). Maybe it’s the ghost of past memories haunting Ubo with nightmares. Maybe Kurapika just isn’t very good at being soothing when he’s so used to being the opposite. Whatever Kurapika tries, naptime and bedtime are somehow always bigger, more dramatic battles than Kurapika’s fight with Ubogin ever was as an adult. Picking him up, rocking him, singing lullabies, reading him bedtime stories- what other options does he even have? Damn it, he can’t just keep handing Ubo to Leorio. It feels like an admission of failure. 

On one desperate occasion he turns to Senritsu for help. If anyone can make a lullaby work, she can. Right? Perhaps she could teach him? Except in his sleep-deprived haze of poor judgement, Kurapika forgets to wear earplugs. 

*

It’s that time again: time to harass his favorite librarian. What’s this? Kuroro’s favorite librarian happens to be indisposed. 

Sprawled on the floor in front of the wooden rocking chair in the back corner of the children’s section, Kurapika lays on his side in a tangle of limbs with one arm curled protectively around his soundly sleeping young charge. His chest rises and falls steadily in a series of soft, slow breaths, his expression smooth and utterly relaxed. Kuroro nudges him with one boot: no response. He smirks, amused. Uh oh, it looks like someone failed to escape from his fortune. In fact Kuroro still has it right… here. He can work with this; the spider book theme was getting stale anyhow. 

* 

Oh god, Kurapika definitely slept too long. He wakes up feeling muzzy and disoriented and half inclined to go back to sleep if the small human beside him wasn’t also stirring into babbling, good-natured wakefulness beside him. His free hand moves to rub at his eyes- and crinkles against a piece of paper taped to his forehead. Huh? He sits up, pulling Ubogin into his lap. They both yawn. 

Kurapika removes the page and holds it in front of his face where he can read it. What in the seven shades of fuck is _this_? He _recognizes_ that handwriting. Is this a fortune from the Lovely Ghostwriter? Is it predicting his _death_? Logic kicks in belatedly, prompting Kurapika to reread the verses on the slightly yellowed page. Wait. This is _old_. This already happened _months_ ago. 

“Ba!” Ubogin comments, pointing. 

“Did you have a good nap?” 

Sticking the tape back on so that the paper covers his face, Kurapika lies back down where he was and rolls over onto his other side. “This is a bad dream. Maybe if I ignore it, it will go away.” Only Ubogin won’t let him pretend to sleep, giggling and climbing over his prone body like a tiny mountaineer. That _tickles._ Kurapika holds his breath to stifle an ungainly burst of laughter, glad that the old fortune is hiding his poorly contained smile. 

“You’ve been out for two hours, you know. Fortunately, I am a patient man.” 

“Kuroro Lucifer, _you_ are a kick in the cabbage with heels on.” 

Well his outdated fortune is actually useful for one other thing- when he gives up and lifts it off of his forehead a second time, Ubogin takes one look at him and shrieks with delight. Of course Kurapika will take playing peek-a-boo over having to interact with Kuroro any day. With an exaggerated gasp, Kurapika starts speaking to Ubo in a stage whisper in Kuruta. “Oh no! The big, bad monster _sees_ you? Where are you going to hide?” Right on cue, Ubogin covers his eyes with his own hands. “Where on earth did Ubo go? Where is my little bear? Did he sail right off the map? _There_ he is!” 

This, apparently, is more cuteness than Kuroro can stomach. Good riddance. 

Finally Kurapika notices the murder mystery titles surrounding him on all sides, the black and yellow POLICE LINE- DO NOT CROSS tape, and a chalk outline in the shape his body had been lying in. He can’t believe he just slept through a visit from _Kuroro_. 

He’d better finish the video call he dropped off from in case his friend gets worried. “Thank you Senritsu. I am definitely never going to try that again. Your lullaby is truly the most fearsome nen ability I have ever seen.” 

Later on, Kurapika figures out a lullaby that works on his own. As it so happens, Ubogin will fall asleep to the sound of Kuruta drinking songs. 

***

DO NOT FOLD, says the envelope. There’s even a stiff piece of cardboard inside to protect the contents. 

“Hey, Kurapika?” 

Leorio looks up from the letter he received in the mail, but Kurapika hasn’t moved, still staring at the fancy paper stamped with a fancy gold seal with a fancy, illegible signature in fancy ink, simply begging to be framed and hung up on the wall. He can almost hear the gears turning a million miles an hour. This is it, the moment he’s been working his whole life to reach. He’s a _real_ doctor. Now he can open his own practice and- why is it never easy to just be _happy_?

“I want to go home,” Leorio murmurs softly, his voice barely above a whisper. 

“I know.” Kurapika buries his face in Leorio’s chest, holding him tight like he could vanish any second. The true test of a marriage is a fork in the road where both paths require a sacrifice. Of _course_ he’s proud of him but- It’s a heavy decision to make. Meteor City, or Leorio’s hometown? Stay or leave? Does he want to uproot all of these children from their birthplace and their hard won support system to be closer to the Paladiknight clan? Would the children even _want_ to come with him? Would they feel abandoned all over again if Kurapika left them behind and stopped participating in their day to day lives, only occasionally coming back to visit? Most of them don’t _need_ Kurapika anymore. He’s done what he set out to do- he has built them a home. They have Colt, and Reina, and Brovura, and Koala, and the Meteor City adults, and each other, and sometimes even Nobu, Shalnark and Franklin. The library, like anything else that survives for long in Meteor City, has become self-sufficient. 

How much would he be asking of Leorio, who has already done so much for him? He was so patient in York Shin City, willing to wait while Kurapika ran off to all the corners of the earth and slowly rediscovered himself. Kurapika didn’t have to ask twice for Leorio to come with him to Nancha City, which would have felt unimaginably lonely without his support. Even the prospect of coming to live here in Meteor City for the final year of his residency didn’t make Leorio flinch. He accepted the risk. He was up to the challenge. Clearly this time it’s Kurapika’s turn to go with Leorio, instead of the other way around. That was the plan. But that was _before_ the library. 

Then there’s the question of how many children Kurapika can handle by himself. Ubogin _has_ to come with him- that is non-negotiable. The little bear cub is already more than a handful all on his own. What if five more kids want to come with him? Ten? Twenty? Would he have to take all the Chimera Ants with him for support, and would they be willing to come? Would he have to hire others to help, introducing more adults the children would have to get used to even as everything else they have ever known changes around them? Would he have to bring in replacements in Meteor City to look after the library and the children who choose to stay behind? 

Or- what if Kurapika doesn’t have to choose? Is there a way to get the best of both worlds? Would it require frequent travel on airships and garbage barges, one month here, one month there, while he tries to run the library and stay with Leorio at the same time? Kurapika can handle that much travel, but it would be hard on Ubogin. Children do well with structure and routine. 

Could Kurapika live in Leorio’s hometown and pop by to work at the library in Meteor City whenever he wanted? Is there a way to do it with nen? Leorio can create portals big enough to transport a person, but only for short distances. Kurapika racks his brain, thinking back on conversations he had a long time ago. There’s Knov, who can transport people over distances up to a few hundred meters using a nen space as an intermediary. Kurapika can create a nen space with his Teacup, but no, the distances required would be much longer than that. Maybe if Kurapika could combine his nen abilities with Leorio and Knov somehow? It seems complex, risky, and like something that would take a long time to develop and test. _Oh_ , but the creators of Greed Island managed it somehow, based on Gon’s description. Using Hatsu at a computer connected to a copy of the game transports the player directly to the island at a fixed starting point, and then within the game there are certain nen powered objects that allow the players to hop from location to location alone or with others, or even to leave the game, thereby leaving the island. So there’s definitely a way to do it, then. This will require a _lot_ of nen from as many as ten people, with very strict conditions for its usage and anchor points. It’s probably going to take enough money to make even Kurapika blink, unless he can trade for a few favors using his own abilities. 

Kurapika presses a kiss to Leorio’s lips, and smiles. “I need to make a few phone calls.” 

***

Gon sure is giving Ubogin a run for his money. (Or is it the other way around?) All this Enhancer energy concentrated in one room is exhausting to watch. Kurapika melts into the couch beside Leorio with grateful contentment written all over his face and a steaming cup of tea in his hands. 

“I just changed my registration with the Hunter Association. Being a Bounty Hunter hasn’t suited me for years now, but I had a hard time deciding what I wanted to do next.” 

“Really!? What kind of Hunter are you now?” 

“While I was teaching Kuruta lessons, my colleagues opened the door to some other endangered languages that captured my interest. For a while there I considered becoming a Language Hunter, but eventually I decided that languages are more of a hobby to dabble in on the side. The closest thing to my heart is to find homes for the children everyone else has already abandoned and given up on, especially in the inaccessible, dangerous places where they are the most vulnerable. I decided to register as the first Orphan Hunter.” 

“Translation: every time some scuffed up street urchin tries to pickpocket two Jenny out of his pocket, they end up with a hug, a stern talking to, way more Kuruta food than they can possibly eat in one sitting, at least ten or twenty parental figures including a few Chimera Ants, nen lessons and about a hundred new brothers and sisters.” It never ceases to amaze Leorio how Kurapika manages to pull it off. Ever since he figured out how to keep up with a nen-powered toddler, Leorio has never seen him get overwhelmed by _anything_.

“Oh! You’re just like Knuckle! Except with people instead of dogs.” 

“ _Exactly._ ”

Kurapika smiles, his face flushing a pretty shade of pink with a mix of self-consciousness and pride. “How fortunate that I have a very patient and understanding husband who is also a qualified medical professional.” 

“And also a former scuffed up street urchin.” 

“Funny how things work out that way, isn’t it.” 

***

They’re Hunters. They’ve been around the world. They’ve faced countless dangers together and apart, and seen the best and worst of humanity. 

When Leorio suggested a beach vacation for their belated honeymoon, Kurapika thought it was going to be boring. 

He was wrong. 

First of all, there’s the novelty of having Nobunaga babysit for a few weeks, a suggestion Kurapika probably would have punched someone in the face for if the very idea had been brought up ten years ago. With great trepidation, he lets go of his lively toddler and asks for photographic documentation of their exploits upon his return. His arms feel so empty. His head is abuzz. What is he going to _do_ with himself? 

Beach reading, obviously. In all of the cheerful bustle, Kurapika had completely forgotten how relaxing it is to just lie on a towel and do nothing. He didn’t remember anymore how it felt to lose track of what day it is, to give up tracking the hours by watch and phone and laptop, instead observing the sun, moon and stars as they wheeled lazily through the sky. He had forgotten what quiet sounds like; the lapping waves of the ocean; the breeze bending the grass over the sand dunes; the heartbeats in between birdsongs and cricket chirps and frogs croaking. 

When the pages of the novel no longer hold his attention, he rushes into the surf and swims out just far enough that his head bobs above the waves and his feet only occasionally touch the seabed. He spreads his arms and legs out like a star and floats, squinting the sun out of his eyes. He gets into a splash fight with Leorio and laughs. They walk along the beach together, hand in hand, occasionally stopping to inspect an interesting rock or a seashell. They sculpt a massive sandcastle with towers and a moat and little flags made of sticks and seaweed, then watch the tide obliterate it into nothing. 

Leorio wouldn’t let Kurapika plan _anything_. Okay, okay, _maybe_ he was being a control freak. Maybe it’s nice to be surprised every once in a while. Kurapika never would have been caught dead in a snorkel mask and flippers otherwise- he can’t even pretend Leorio is the one who looks more ridiculous in them than he does. Hey, it’s worth it for the up close view of all the colorful fish and the barnacle crusted shipwreck just beyond the shallows. Then the glass-bottomed boat tour of the nearby coral reefs has Kurapika wide-eyed all day, clinging to Leorio’s elbow and pointing. Later on in the evening, Kurapika is impressed at how well Leorio can pull off a romantic dinner when given half a chance; he’s really done his research. 

Of course Leorio saved the best for last. 

The second ship sails in a different direction, far beyond the shallow reefs. Several hours into their journey, Kurapika has to fight down the urge to retreat from the breezy upper railing to the lower decks and crack open another novel. The captain has pointed out a few sights along the way already- a lighthouse they already visited, built a few hundred years ago with accompanying tales of storms and sinking ships- a sea turtle to the right, a group of jellyfish to the left, a large manta ray almost straight ahead- but so far nothing interesting enough to merit sailing out this far. There’s a suspicious air of mischief in Leorio’s grin that invites Kurapika to look closer, searching for hints. The suspense is driving him up the wall. 

“Where are we going?” 

Leorio winks. “I think we’re almost there.” 

As if on cue, some excited exclamations reach their ears from the back of the ship. Kurapika looks up at Leorio, raising both eyebrows. Leorio’s grin widens. _Fine,_ be like that. Grabbing Leorio by the hand, Kurapika tugs him along to the back railing to investigate. 

_Dolphins._ Kurapika’s annoyance evaporates in an instant. Just behind the rudder, a pod of ten or twenty is jumping and surfing and splashing in the wake left behind the boat like they’ve opened a present with a shiny new toy inside. 

The boat slows to a careful halt. 

“Want to go for a dive?” 

Kurapika is too dignified to scream in public like a teenage girl at a live boy band concert, but it’s a very near thing. The proof is right there in the starstruck sunset staring up at Leorio through golden eyelashes. 


	12. MORE Illustrations

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I dropped a big fat hint in Kurapika's fortune and I didn't see a single one of you guess that baby Ubogin was going to come into the picture. *squinty eyes*

Caption: Five sequential frames in full color! In which Kurapika gets a little bit carried away reading.

In the first frame Kurapika is slouching in a bean bag chair reading a book with an angel’s halo on the front cover and a devil tail on the back. There are library shelves in the background. He is wearing the training portion of his outfit without the robe over the top.

In the second Kurapika is lying on the floor with one leg crossed over the other, still reading a book with a little red ringed planet on the cover. This time we see him in a blue robe with yellow patterns on, signifying that time has passed.

In the third frame Kurapika is lying on his stomach with his legs crossed behind him, you guessed it, reading a book. He is so engrossed in whatever he is reading that he has a surprised expression on his face and scarlet eyes (the book is just that good). Leorio approaches him and asks “Comfy there, chief?” Leorio is in his white scrubs with a red cross on the sleeve.

In the fourth frame which takes place immediately after the third frame, Kurapika looks up, unamused by the interruption, and shushes Leorio. He’s getting to the good part, leave him alone!

In the fifth and final frame, Leorio is trying to sleep, clutching the covers around him. We can’t see his face but his posture is annoyed. Beside him Kurapika is wearing some variant of one of his training outfits in lieu of pajamas and reading by flashlight under the covers, unconcerned. The fact that Leorio is shirtless doesn’t seem to distract Kurapika at all.

Leorio: GO TO SLEEP. (in heavy capital letters with a thick outline)

Kurapika: NO. (in fancy sparkly text with a tiny heart for a period)

Credit where credit is due: I copy pasted random library shelf images I found on Google into the background because I’m way too lazy to draw a jillion library books in by hand.

  
  
  
  


Caption: Five frames of Kuroro trolling Kurapika at the library. The background is a corner of the children's section of the library featuring low shelves filled with colorful children's books, a green rocking chair, an oval shaped rug in primary colors, and a banner of the Hunter Language Alphabet running across the wall.

In the first frame, Kuroro finds Kurapika sound asleep on the rug with one arm curled around baby Ubogin and the other arm just barely reaching his laptop. Kuroro has a contemplative expression on his face, with just a hint of a smile as he kicks Kurapika in the butt and gets nothing but soft snoring out of the guy. Kuroro has his hair slicked back so you can see the purple plus shaped tattoo on his forehead and his turquoise earrings. He is wearing his long purple coat with the fluffy white collar over a black leather jacket and black leather pants with two belts over his hips and way more belts over the legs of the pants because why stop at one? His purple shoes have little brass bell shapes over the toe end for some reason. Meteor City fashion is crazy, man. This is what happens when you find your fashion sense in the trash. At least he doesn't look like he's wearing a bathrobe anymore like he did before I added the big pimpin' white feathers. Okay maybe it still does look like a bath robe a little. ANYWAY. Kurapika is wearing his training outfit without the robe / tabard over the top - think basically grey sweatpants with a tunic and belt over the top and flat blue shoes. Judging by the serene expression on his face, not even Kuroro's looming presence is troubling his dreams at the moment. Beside him Ubogin sleeps on his back with his arms and legs outstretched, wearing nothing but his furry diaper. I meant to draw him with olive skin but he came out darker than that and then I just rolled with it.

In the second frame, Kuroro is crouching at the back of the children's section of the library, clearly up to no good as he swaps out the children's books with murder mysteries that are totally unsuitable for children. He has surrounded Kurapika with a masking tape version of chalk marks around his prone body (careful to avoid Ubogin while he sleeps). Yellow and black caution tape across the bookshelves is the finishing touch to his decorations. He has also taped Kurapika's fortune right to his forehead, but even this hasn't woken Kurapika up yet. Neither Kurapika nor Ubogin have moved since the first frame.

In the third frame, Kuroro has taken up residence in the green rocking chair reading a murder mystery while he waits for Kurapika to wake up so he can see the look on his face. Kurapika cracks open one eye as Ubogin kicks his legs up into the air, all green eyes and smiles. Kurapika has a small, sleepy smile on his face watching Ubogin.

In the fourth frame, Kurapika is sitting up cross-legged with Ubogin sitting in his lap trying to grab at Kurapika's fortune, while Kurapika scrutinizes the folded piece of paper with an unimpressed expression on his face. His eyes are narrowed and his lips are pressed out in a thin line. Behind him in the rocking chair, Kuroro has set down the book he was reading in his lap. Kuroro is smirking and holding up one arm in an explanatory gesture. I didn't include any speech bubbles but this is the part where he asks, "Did you have a good nap?"

In the fifth and final frame, Kurapika is lying down on his side with his back facing the viewer, his arms crossed over his chest. A little bit of text just above his head reads NOPE. On the left by Kurapika's head, Kuroro is standing up and leaning over Kurapika with the book he was reading held behind his back. Again, no speech bubbles, but this is the part where Kuroro says "You've been out for two hours. Fortunately I am a patient man." Ubogin is standing up at Kurapika's knees, looking up at Kuroro and pointing. Ubogin is saying "Ba!" because yes, there's the Boss. Babies love pointing out the obvious.

Caption: Kurapika nose to nose with a dark skinned, curly haired baby Ubogin, both smiling. Dressing this baby in Kuruta garb? YOU BET YOUR ASS HE WILL. Also a hat with bear ears and eyes and nose. Kurapika doesn’t seem to mind that Ubo is sticking his hand in Kurapika’s face over his mouth.

Kurapika makes a new best friend.

Caption: Underwater scene featuring Kurapika scuba diving in a white and dark blue striped wet suit. AKA SCUBAPIKA! I just think anti shark wet suits look cool, okay?

Kurapika has his arm around a smiling dolphin. Behind the breathing tube of the scuba mask he is grinning from ear so hard even his eyes are scarlet. The dolphin has one flipper around him as well. Kurapika’s hair is floating all over the place around his head. A cloud of bubbles is floating upward from his face.

I also had an image in my head of Kurapika up on the deck of a ship excitedly pointing at the dolphins surfing in the wake below, with Leorio in a Hawaiian shirt standing beside him at the rail with one arm around Kurapika, but then I ran out of steam on the motivation to do art. I hope you guys enjoyed these illustrations!


End file.
